


Once, the Stars Aligned

by Gamemakers



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Civil War, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamemakers/pseuds/Gamemakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnick O'Daire fled starvation in Ireland for New York. Annie Cresta longed to break free from the confinement of her perfectly respectable life. But even once they found one other, the two could not escape the trials of their era. A 19th-century Odesta historical AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_January 1846_

Mam said they wouldn't have another day as nice as this one for a long time. He couldn't feel the weather in his bones like Mammy could, but even he knew that melting snow in January was a rare sight indeed. Finnick tilted his head backwards to soak up every drop of sunlight and took another small bite of his bread, determined to make it last as long as possible. He had already eaten most of his thin slice, and although Ainsleigh had long since finished her piece, he still felt he was eating it far too quickly.

"Finnick, hurry up! I want to play!" Ainsleigh caught his stomach with her elbow, and he barely managed to stop himself from tumbling off the rock. "Come on, Finnick!" she repeated.

He rubbed his side and scowled at her, but she continued to pester him with the energy only a six year old who had been cooped up inside for far too many weeks could muster. "I want to finish my dinner first," he replied.

The redheaded girl would not be deterred. "You can bring your bread with you, Finnick. Come on, I want to play, and Mam says I can't go out near the road without you." When he made no move to get up, Ainsleigh tried to drag him from his spot. Finnick groaned and stood. At the ripe old age of eight, he would never win this argument; it was best to have it over with.

As he watched Ainsleigh kick at the rocks and ugly brown weeds that lay next to the road, Finnick let his mind water to far-off places that he might someday visit: New York, where Clodagh and Callum had left Ireland for; China, where he had heard that the emperor lived in a city all his own with a hundred wives; aboard a pirate's ship, hunting for treasure and fighting soldiers. Anywhere was more exciting than here. All he had seen of Ireland consisted of little villages of stone cottages with thatch roofs, rolling green hills, and acres upon acres of blighted potatoes that marred any beauty he could have found in this country.

Ainsleigh screamed and ran towards him, ripping him from his daydream. Finnick hugged her shaking body close and looked to see what had frightened her. He took an involuntary step back when he saw two skeletons walking up the road. No, not skeletons, but children. The O'Connelly brothers from a few farms away had grown so horribly thin that Finnick could make out every bone beneath their ashen skin. He clutched his younger sister tighter, wanting to protect her from the awful sight.

The older brother, Bradan, smiled at them and began to walk up towards the house, Sean following a few steps behind. It should have been nothing unusual; they were both close to Finnick's age, and they had always gotten along well at school. But now, with Finnick so aware of their sunken cheeks and wasted muscles, they seemed hardly the same species. He wanted to help them, but he knew that despite his parents' best efforts to keep them fed, he and his siblings were far too thin as well. Yes, Bradan and Sean would soon starve, but it would hardly be the first time death had touched their community in recent years.

But, as he'd learned well since their neighbors' too-small crop began to run out in November, the O'Connellys were certain the O'Daires had at least a few bites to spare. "Oi, Finnick! Share some bread, mate?" Braden's voice held the same cheery tone as usual, but he could hear the despair underneath.

Father O'Rourick preached every Sunday to extend the hand of generosity towards thy neighbor, but Mam said differently. Their food was theirs alone, and she would not have one of her children starve so that someone else's could live. So, after a glance at the crumbling piece of bread in his hand, Finnick shook his head, and the two boys continued down the road.

He took the last bite of his bread. Somehow, it didn't taste as good as it had before.

* * *

_May 1849_

"And remember to always stay together."

"Don't worry, dear, they'll be fine," Da's voice was meant to be reassuring, but he sounded so uncertain that the effect was lost.

Their mother checked each of their packs, ensuring that they truly did have their tickets, food, clothing, and a bit of money. Anything else, Clodagh and Callum would have for them in New York. "You know how I worry about them. The two of you will keep each other safe, won't you?" Both boys nodded.

"Finnick and Patrick are smart lads. They know what to do." said their father.

Finnick tried to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. He didn't want to go; he'd give anything to stay here in Ireland with Mam and Da, where even if there wasn't always food on the table, he at least had his family. Finnick could barely remember Callum from his time at home, and since they had emigrated, there had been no more than a handful of letters a year exchanged between the two halves of his family. How was he supposed to stay with his eldest brother and Clodagh in New York until his parents came? Yes, Patrick would be there with him, but it wouldn't be the same as having his entire family.

As usual, his mother knew his heart as well as he did. "Don't worry, love," she whispered against his ear. Though he was only eleven, she still had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "It won't be too long at all. Remember, it took Callum four years to be able to save enough for Clodagh to come over. It took just three for the two of them to save enough for both you and Patrick. With four of you working, we'll be together again almost before you realize we're gone." She stroked his soft bronze hair with one hand and smiled at him. Ma did try to be strong for him; when he looked only at her mouth and forehead, Finnick could almost believe she wasn't crying.

He nodded, too choked to say anything. His mother pulled him into an embrace. "Finnick, dear, I do love you, but this is for the best. She stroked his hair, and he could feel the wetness of her tears through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"I love you," Finnick managed to choke out. She kissed his cheek, and then it was time to go. He and his father and brother walked down to the town square together, where they met the man who would take them to Westport. He checked that he had all of his meager supplies and hugged his father and Ainsleigh goodbye before climbing into the man's wagon.

His younger sister chased after the wagon. "Goodbye, Finnick! Goodbye, Patrick!" she shouted. He waved back at her until she was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Finnick slumped down, already exhausted and desperate to go home.

"And who is waiting for you in America, young O'Daire?" asked the man. Though Da had introduced him as Woody, Finnick doubted it was his real name. With the man's oaken leg, it seemed too perfect, and he had no wish to offend the stranger by asking. "Eh? I asked ye a question, didn't I?"

Finnick tried to remember the question, but Patrick, it seemed, had paid far better attention to the conversation. "We're going to meet our elder brother and sister there."

"I get so many of ye children gon' to New York that I can't ever remember just who I've seen. But O'Daire, now that does sound familiar, and not just from your da."

"Did you take Callum and Clodagh?" asked Finnick.

"So the little one does talk, eh?" Woody turned to look at Finnick. "Ay, Clodagh! That's a familiar name if there ever was one. Tell me, boy, what is she up to now?"

"She works in some kind of factory, like we're hopefully going to. She's married as well," answered Patrick.

"Good for 'er." Though the man seemed friendly, Finnick didn't like him. Perhaps it was that he didn't watch the road as he drove or that he smelled like goats. More likely, he couldn't like the man because he was taking him away from home.

They crossed a creek, and Finnick was further from home than he had ever been before. "We're going to make another stop here," the main said, and he pulled off the road into a little hamlet. A very old but still attractive woman waited next to a heavy wooden trunk. "Ay, Mags! Good to see ye again!" The wooden leg did not slow his jump from the carriage as Woody hoisted the trunk up into the cart.

The woman, Mags, embraced him. "And you as well, Hannigan. It's been far too long." The man's face flushed a ruddy pink when she kissed his cheek, and he tripped over his words slightly as he helped her into the wagon. She laid her walking stick on her lap and looked over the two boys.

"Good day," Patrick said. Finnick nodded, but said nothing.

The woman smiled at him. "Hannigan, I don't believe you've introduced us."

"Lads, this is Margaret Donoghue, and Mags, these two are Patrick O'Daire and his younger brother…"

"Finnick," he supplied.

Mags reached out to shake each of their hands. "A pleasure, both of you. Are the two of you headed for America, then?"

He nodded, and Patrick spoke for both of them. "Aye, we'll be sailing for New York to meet our older brother and sister. And yourself?"

"Also to New York. Aboard the  _Westward Angel_ , yes?"

"Us as well," he answered, and she turned her gaze towards him.

"I suppose, then, that we'll be getting to know each other quite well over the next few weeks. I look forward to it. Now, be good lads and tell me all about your older siblings and what they've said of New York."

Normally, Finnick would have allowed Patrick to answer for him, but something about this woman drew out another side of him. He found himself enthusiastically answering her questions, telling her everything he knew about Callum, Clodagh, and her husband, any thought of Ainsleigh and his parents banished by tales of buildings with ten stories and factories where hundreds of people and machines wove together. The woman listened for hours, nodding along and asking for clarification as they slowly traveled towards the coast.

* * *

Nine days. It had been nine days since he boarded the  _Westward Angel_ , nine days since he had left the only land he'd ever known behind. In all his eleven years of life, Finnick had never felt more miserable.

He huddled in his bunk, clenching his stomach as the boat roiled in rough waters. Unlike Patrick, Finnick had quickly found what the sailors on board called his sea legs, but tonight even the strongest stomachs felt queasy. He could hear the crashes of thunder above and the sound of rain pounding the decks. At home, when storms like this hit, he and Ainsleigh would try to guess how long it would be between each lightning strike and its accompanying boom of thunder. Patrick had always said it was nothing but a silly game, and Finnick agreed, but it distracted them from thinking of the sheer strength of nature. Here, even in the crowd, he was alone with the storm, no Ainsleigh to play his game with. God, he missed her. But now was no time to cry. He needed to be strong now, not just for himself, but also for Patrick.

"How are you?" asked a gentle voice.

His brother only groaned in pain, but Finnick rolled over to see Mags leaning heavily on her cane and with a concerned look on her face. "I've been better," he answered. "How are you?"

"A bit seasick, but nowhere near as bad as most of the others." She smiled at him. "Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?"

He scooched over on his narrow bunk, and the woman sat down beside him. "Are you truly alright, Finnick?" she asked, this time in a much softer voice. Tears threatened to spill down his face. "It'll be fine, lad. Don't hold it all in, Finnick. That will only crack you later. Trust me; it takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."

Finnick thought he was already cracking. One drop rolled down his face, and he sniffed. "I just want to go back home. I don't know if I'll ever see them again."

"Love, every time we part with someone, whether it's for a minute or a year, we never know if we're going to that person again. The future isn't ours to know." She patted his back, and Finnick scooted closer to her.

"Do you any children or grandchildren? Will they miss you?" As soon as the words left his lips, Finnick wished he could take them back. Mam had specifically told him not to be rude, yet here he was, asking whether or not a near stranger's family loved her.

The woman, however, did not seem offended and shook her head. "No, I never had any children. I do miss my sisters very much, but I doubt that they feel the same."

"How many sisters do you have?"

"My former sisters, I suppose," she corrected herself, "the other women who lived in my convent. I doubt they miss me much at all."

Finnick nodded in understanding. "So, you're a nun, then?"

"I was a nun for many years, but I am not any longer. I chose to leave fairly recently."

A woman in a nearby bunk gasped and scowled at Mags, shifting her child to her other side so he was further away from the old woman. Finnick was confused, for he had never heard of a nun breaking her vows and leaving the Church, but he did not ask for any more detail. It would be impolite, certainly, and he wasn't sure what the other woman had been so scandalized by. Yes, probably best not to know.

A violent wave hit the ship, and Finnick could no longer control his stomach. He vomited onto the floor, only adding to the nearly overwhelming stench of the hold. His breath came in short gasps as he tried to calm his body back to normal. He could not be sick again. It was only a waste of precious food. Yes, the crew served the passengers two meals each day, but the rations were small, not enough for eleven and thirteen-year-old boys, and the food that they had brought from home had long since ran out.

"Are you all right?" his brother asked. Finnick nodded, not quite prepared to speak again. "We're all going to die. It'll sink," moaned Patrick, tightly clutching his stomach.

Mags hushed him. "Don't worry your younger brother like that, Patrick O'Daire," she said. "You're older, and you ought to know better."

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Patrick's face had a greenish tinge, and Finnick found himself trying to put all the distance the cramped bunk would allow between him and his brother.

The woman's next words surprised him. "It's not me you should be apologizing to."

Patrick turned to Finnick. "We aren't going to sink, Finnick. 'Twas daft of me to think it." He looked at Mags, who nodded, and turned back away from them.

His brothers words should have been reassuring, but still, the thought of the  _Westward Angel_ slipping beneath the steely gray waves and becoming a watery grave for all on board played through his mind again and again. He saw the mast collapsing from the gales he could hear ripping against the sails, crashing to the deck and splintering the wood there. A hole opened in the side of the ship, and the sea claimed him. As soon as he dispelled that nightmare, another replaced it. In this scenario, the  _Westward Angel_ was driven so far off course by the storm that the captain became lost, and they drifted through the ocean as days became weeks, slowly dying of starvation and dehydration. Finnick shuddered.

Strong but slender arms wrapped around him. "You'll be all right, child," said Mags. He leaned against her. "You're a young boy far from home. I'd be more worried if you didn't miss your old life." She brushed his hair away to look directly into his eyes. "But you must remember that good things await you in New York."

"How do you know? You said that no one can know the future."

She smiled. "A smart one, you are. That I did, and a good thing it is too, for we'd all be driven mad attempting to avoid tomorrow or hurrying towards a better future."

"Then how can you say what I'll find in America?"

"Only a feeling." She patted his hand, and when another wave hit, he went rigid. Mags pulled him against her side so that he could rest his head on her shoulder. The waves hitting the ship began to shrink, and he could no longer hear rain hitting the decks above. Finnick nestled closer against Mags as his eyelids drooped in exhaustion and his breathing became shallow and even. The woman tucked his head more comfortably against her shoulder. "Yes, yes, 'twas merely a feeling, Finnick O'Daire."


	2. At First Sight

_May 1859_

She twisted her dark hair above her head, trying to tempt a cool breeze to her neck. Even with every window open, the apartment was still stiflingly hot, and the day was still young. It would only get worse. Annie gave up, allowing her brown hair to fall around her shoulders. She glanced towards the pile of clothes waiting on the bed she shared with her sister. The two petticoats and outer layer stared back at her. Given the heat, surely she could make do with just one petticoat today? She stuffed the heavier skirt back into her wardrobe and hurriedly dressed before joining her mother in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Mother."

The other woman looked up from the stove, where she was cooking breakfast. "Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"

Annie leaned up on her tiptoes to reach the plates in the cupboard. "Yes, I did. You?" She dropped one plate, but God must have been smiling upon her that morning, for she managed to catch it before it hit the ground. She checked that she had everything: five cups, five plates, and five spoons.

The flatware wasn't exactly an inch away from the edge of the plate like her mother had instructed her to do so many times over the years, but at least she'd managed to finish something this morning without any conflict. Annie went to grab the pot of oatmeal, but her mother's voice stopped her just as she began to lift the heavy iron pot from the stove. "Do you really intend to go about your business only half-dressed?"

She set the oatmeal back down. "I'm sorry, half dressed?"

"You are only wearing one petticoat. I do understand that today is rather warm, but that isn't acceptable dress for a young lady. Please go back to your room and come back properly dressed." Her mother studied her for another moment. "And remember your stockings this time as well."

Annie poked a foot out from under her dress, frowning when she saw that it was bare. She hadn't planned to forget her stockings, but she really didn't want to put them on. Did Mother not understand just how hot New York became in May?

Still, with a sigh, she tugged on her second petticoat and white stockings. She could always take them off again later; Aunt Violet certainly wouldn't mind. After all, the clothes her mother's sister wore could hardly be called modest. Annie hurried out to the other room, where the rest of her family had gathered. She sat down at her usual spot on her father's left and waited for him to pray before helping herself to a serving of oatmeal. "Our Father, who art in Heaven," he began.

Annie allowed her mind to wander far from her father's words. Silently, she calculated how many times she had heard this prayer. Eighteen and a half years times three hundred and sixty-five days in a year times three times in a day. That would be... somewhere over ten thousand, perhaps? She'd never been very good at mental arithmetic. In any case, one more telling of this prayer wouldn't be enough to determine whether or not she'd be saved.

Too late, she realized that Papa had finished the prayer. Her mother watched her with pursed lips, eyebrows raised in silent disappointment. Annie blushed. "Amen," she added.

Father grinned at her and winked. Annie smiled in return. He cleared his throat. "What are our plans for today?" He looked towards her brother, Edmund, who was scooping oatmeal from the pot in the center of the table into his bowl.

"I'm going to school," he answered, his voice sugared with false innocence.

"And what special chore do you have at school today?" prompted Papa.

The boy shifted in his wooden chair and pretended to think for a moment. Finally, he looked down into his bowl in shame. "I have to apologize to Miss Cartwright for not listening during lecture and getting into a fight yesterday," he mumbled.

"Don't talk into your bowl. Your father asked you a question, and he expects an answer."

Edmund closed his eyes for a second before sitting up straight and looking at Papa. "I am going to apologize to my teacher for my behavior yesterday. It wasn't appropriate."

"I'm sure that your teacher will forgive you, Edmund. Now, hurry up and finish so you can be there on time." Papa turned his eyes to Georgia. "And you, love?"

She shook her head. "I'm just helping Mama today, but Annie has something else."

Annie frowned at her seventeen-year-old sister across the table. Papa already knew what she was doing this evening; there was no reason to involve Mama. The other girl shrugged at her, smirking.

"Oh, does she?" Their mother set down her spoon to look at Annie. "I don't think you told me about this."

"I'm sorry, I must have forgotten. I'm going to help Aunt Violet tonight." Her oatmeal was suddenly far more interesting, and she pushed the somewhat watery mixture around her plate as she braced herself for the coming onslaught.

Her mother did not disappoint. "You most certainly will not be going this evening!" she snapped. Annie could see a vein throbbing in her forehead, the tension in her forehead highlighted by the rigid bun her grey-streaked brown hair had been pulled into. "One of the conditions of you being allowed into that filthy place at all was that you would always be home on Saturday to go to church early the next morning! You never make it home after you're there – not that I want you in the streets at that hour, mind you – and we won't see you 'til well after sermon, I know it. I won't allow you to go back on your promises like that, young lady."

"I'm sorry, Mama, but Aunt Violet needs me. Cecelia's littlest one is sick, so she'll be short a pair of hands on her busiest night. She won't be able to keep up without me there." Annie hoped her mother could sense the sincerity in her voice as well as the defiance.

Martha Cresta shook her head. "No, I won't allow it. Having my daughter even go into a tavern is bad enough; I refuse to have her miss church because of it. Finish your breakfast." She waited for them to go back to their meal, daring her family to continue the argument.

Annie's father looked over at her, his eyes loving and patient. She understood; he would support her, but only if she had the courage to take the first step. The spoon in her hand felt heavy as she took a deep breath. She set it down before she spoke. "I need to honor my commitments, Mama. I told Aunt Violet I would help here this evening, and I will. She needs my help."

Georgia's spoon clattered against her plate, and when Annie glanced over, she could see the surprise etched on her sister's features. Her mother's cheekbones stood high against her pinched cheeks. "No. I am your mother, and I have forbidden it. As long as you live under this roof, Annette, you will obey by my rules." The woman's voice suggested a barely restrained anger, and Annie knew better than to further press her mother.

Her father, however, was more willing to test Martha's limits. "Let Annie go, love. The girl's right about keeping promises."

Mother's face flushed, and her hands turned white as she gripped her spoon far too tightly. "I'll not have her missing church to help in my sister's sin den!"

"It's hardly a sin den, Mama, just a pub like hundreds or thousands of other ones in the city." Annie was surprised to hear Edmund's voice. Her younger brother shrugged when, suddenly, everyone's eyes were fixed on him. "Well, it's true. There's nothing unusual about it compared to all the others." He wilted under his mother's glare. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you all know far better than I."

"Certainly," their mother agreed.

"I think we should let her go, Martha," Papa added.

Annie held her breath, waiting for her mother's reply. "But she'll miss church. I won't have her burn for an evening helping my sister with the drunks."

"I'll to with Aunt Violet."

Her mother turned her attention back to Annie. "I won't be taken for a fool, Annette. Both of us know that woman never goes to church if she thinks there's a way she can weasel out of it. No, that won't do at all."

"She can worship at home for one Sunday, I'm sure," Father said. His voice held an air of finality that no one in her family dared challenge. "I think we had all best be starting our days now." He rose from the table. "I'll see you all later." He kissed them all on the forehead and hurried down the stairs to his shop.

Annie stared down into her now-cold oatmeal, trying to avoid her mother's eyes. "I'll do the laundry myself, if you'd like," she said. It really was far too hot to do the wash, but she couldn't bear to spend the entire day with Mother's accusing eyes watching her every move.

"Yes, Annette, I think that is for the best." Her mother left the table to start cleaning, leaving Annie and her siblings alone.

Georgia waited until Mama was well out of earshot and Annie was gathering the dishes to speak. "Annie?"

"Yes?"

The look on her sister's face was pure mischief. "Tonight, at Aunt Violet's, make sure to give all those Irishmen something to confess about in mass tomorrow." She winked and scurried from the room.

Annie gasped and looked over to the room's youngest occupant. Edmund's face was a mask of confusion. "What does she mean something to confess about?" he asked.

She faltered for a moment, but eventually came up with a response. "Nothing. Georgia's just being ridiculous. Come on, hurry up. You'll be late for class if you aren't careful." She made sure his lunch tin was filled and sent him out the door. For a few seconds, she sat alone at the table, thinking, before she hoisted herself up and went to fetch the dirty clothes. Her hands felt raw and her muscles stiff just from the thought of doing wash in today's heat. Already, Annie could tell that she had a long day ahead of her.

* * *

She ducked under the counter to take her place behind the bar, still tying the strings of her apron. Annie barely stopped herself from falling into a heap on the tile floor when someone pushed her. Her fingers flew up to her head, but her assailant had no intention of striking her a second time.

"So, Cresta, you finally decided to show up. It must be nice to not have to worry about being late." Though the words were acidic, the voice behind them held a warmth that was impossible to miss.

Annie smiled and righted herself. "Good evening to you as well, Johanna."

"Where have you been? We expected you half an hour ago." Johanna answered before Annie had a chance to speak. "I bet it was that mother of yours again. What did she do this time?"

"It wasn't my mother, actually. I can't blame her for it this time."

"Well, then the fuck were you –"

The rest of her sentence was lost to Annie when an older, heavier woman pulled Annie into a hug. "Annie, I'm so glad you could come down this evening." Violet Jennings loosened her grip on her neice, allowing Annie to step back so they were an arm's-width apart. "Now, don't tell me you let yourself get in trouble with Martha to come here tonight."

She smiled and shrugged, and Violet laughed. "Oh, Annette Cresta, whatever will I do with you? I suppose it's no matter; it's always lovely to see my favorite niece."

"I'm sure Georgia will be thrilled to hear that," said Johanna.

Violet turned to her. "You won't breathe a word of it, will you?" When the other woman only smirked in response, she added, "I'll just have to deny it then. She'll never believe your word over mine, now, will she?"

"I'm sure she'll still love you." Annie glanced around the room. All the tables shone in the dim light, courtesy of a recent cleaning, and the chairs were still somewhat in order. Glasses and tankards adorned half of the wall behind her, each almost sparklingly clean and ready for use. "Is there anything that I can help with? It looks like the two of you have everything ready."

Her aunt ran a hand over her mostly-gray hair. "I suppose there's always something, isn't there? Annie, you go check on the stew. It should be close to ready." She turned to the other woman. "And you, keep Annette here out of trouble."

Johanna grinned, all teeth and dimples that the woman would surely deny having if they were ever mentioned. "I'll be sure to keep her on her toes."

"Good! We'll have fun tonight. Saturdays are always good. The crowd's a bit on the rowdy side, but most of them have good hearts. Speaking of sweet little hearts, where is that man? He was supposed to be here a good twenty minutes ago."

"I haven't seen Brutus today," Johanna answered. Violet's mouth twitched in annoyance, and she hurried away, muttering about the impossibility of finding honest male help under her breath. The other young woman followed Annie into the tavern's cramped kitchen. "So, are you excited for your first Saturday at the Fox and Face?"

Annie leaned down to stir the enormous pot of rich stew. "Are Saturdays any different than any of the other nights?"

"The scenery's much better."

Annie glanced over to see Johanna smirking back at her. She turned back to her chore. "What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

Johanna grinned. "You'll see, I'm sure. Come on, stirring it more won't help any. Let's get back to the front. We'll have customers soon." She grabbed Annie's hand and dragged her back to the front. Annie, sensing she wouldn't escape her friend's grip, allowed herself to be tugged wherever Johanna led. With Johanna, there was no point in resisting.

* * *

"I don't think I realized just how many people could fit in this room," Annie tried to say to Johanna over the constant roar of the Fox and Face's patrons.

The other woman shook her head and pointed to her ear, mouthing  _I can't hear you_. Anne repeated herself, this time louder, but halfway through Johanna interrupted. "Bastard, think you aren't paying for that?" The man, who had been within a few feet of the door, took one look at Johanna and another at Brutus, obviously considering making a run for it. But at the sight of the enormous man and Johanna's expression, he hunched his shoulders and came to the counter to pay. "Thank you very much," Johanna sneered as he handed her a few coins. "Sorry, what were you trying to say?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. I think I'm going to go make another round." Annie grabbed a handful of mugs, each filled to the brim with foamy beer, and started through the maze of chairs, tables, and bodies that filled the tavern. She set down full pints and gathered empty mugs, too focused on her task to notice the smiles and leers directed at her. With hands full of empty mugs, Annie hurried back to the counter. There, she found Johanna intently watching a corner of the room. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The other woman snapped out of her trance-like state. "Hmm? I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"What's wrong, Johanna? You weren't quite here for a moment." She spoke loudly, hoping her voice would travel even in the constant din of the room.

Her lips stretched into a smile, and nodded towards the corner. "This, Miss Annette, is your first example of Saturday night's much-improved scenery."

Annie followed her gaze, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw him. Her heart began to beat faster, and she could feel a blush rising onto her cheeks. Idly, she wondered how she hadn't noticed him before. Even though he was sitting, the man was several inches taller than the others at his table, and with his broad shoulders he seemed to take up a huge portion of the space. Bronze hair and golden skin contrasted with his fair-skinned, redheaded companions, and he wore a smile as he listened to the man next to him, laughing at a joke the other had made.

She didn't realize her aunt was standing next to her until she felt the woman's breath against her ear as she spoke. "He was here last Saturday as well. Finnick O'Daire, his name is. Handsome devil, isn't he?"

"And a thirsty one too. He seems to have finished his drink. Let's see if I can't fix that." Johanna reached for the mugs that Annie had filled.

Her sister's words from earlier flashed through her mind, and Annie stopped Johanna's hand. "I think I'll take care of that," she said sweetly.

Her friend raised her eyebrows. "Why, Miss Cresta, what do you think you're doing?"  
She laughed and winked. "Well, I'm giving him something worth confessing about, of course." Aunt Violet snorted with laughter and Johanna watched, open-mouthed, as Annie made her way to Finnick O'Daire's table, hips swaying with every step.


	3. A Single Swallow

He tilted his mug up to capture the last few swallows of beer. Satisfied he'd gotten his money's worth from it, he sat the empty mug down on the tabletop, sticky with spilled drinks from the tavern's earlier patrons. Finnick struggled to hear his brother's story over the noise of the crowded room. He leaned in closer to Patrick and Callum, listening intently to Patrick's story, as the other men at his table argued back and forth about politics.

"Then, she asked if I'd ever had a drink of water before coming here, or if all the streams flowed with ale." Patrick laughed at his own story, causing Finnick to choke on his beer. He coughed, and Patrick slapped him on the back a few times before Finnick pushed him away.

Callum shook his head at both of them. "Well, you can't leave the story there, can you? What'd you say?"

"You should've let her believe it," Finnick added once he had finally cleared his throat. "Where'd she hear a daft thing like that?"

His older brother shrugged. "How could I know? I think the better question is why did she believe it? Did she think we washed out clothes and bathed in it as well?" Patrick followed his question with another drink, looking pitifully down into his mug when he realized it was empty. "Though if she thought it possible, I'm not sure it's fair to think of her as reasonable. Think the barmaids will be around again soon?" He looked around the room hopefully, but none of the barmaids were anywhere near their table, which had been pushed far into the back corner.

Callum snorted. "Well, who wouldn't want to take a bath in a tub of beer? I know I'd happily volunteer for a dip. Patrick, if you can't be patient and wait, you could just go up and ask the barmaids for another pint. I can almost promise they won't bite – at least not too hard."

"You never know with this sort." Patrick's lips twitched as he stared, forlorn, into the glass. Then, he looked up again, a sly grin on his face. "Finnick, I don't suppose you'd be willing to give a man a hand, would you, mate?"

"Go get your own beer, Patrick. I'm not going up there for you."

Patrick frowned. "Well, that one's been watching you all night. I'm sure she'd be more than happy for a chance to talk with the marvelous Finnick O'Daire, Wonder to all of Womankind."

"He's right, you know. Not about the wonder bit – that's him being an ass – but that one has had her eye on you, and she's nice-looking as well." Callum nodded towards the bar, where a dark-haired woman stared towards them as she filled clean mugs. Finnick expected her to look away the instant their eyes met, but instead she continued to stare. He was tempted to continue the game, to see who would turn away in embarrassment first, but instead he grinned at his older brother.

"I think we should send Patrick up. She looks like she'd rip him to pieces with her bare hands," he said.

Finnick missed Patrick's protests when he heard a laugh from behind him, soft and feminine. He whirled around, half-ready to be berated by the heavy older woman that ran this establishment, but instead he found himself looking into a pair of gorgeous green eyes framed with long, dark lashes. The woman smiled, and Finnick caught a glimpse of corkscrewed teeth. "Would you like another, Mr. O'Daire?" she asked, raising a full pint.

He nodded, and she set the glass down in front of him with enough force that a few drops slid down the side. Finnick didn't take his eyes off of her. "How did you know my name?"

"I asked my friend over there," the woman replied. The confidence in her voice could not entirely conceal her nervousness. He noticed for the first time that her hands shook without something to hold onto. She wiped them on her apron and turned her attention to the others at the table, going back to fetch another drink each for Callum and Patrick.

Patrick shook his head and ran his fingers through his bright red hair. "Of course, not even trying, Finnick's able to pull two in a night. And I can't manage one when I'm doing my best."

"I didn't 'pull' anyone. We barely said more than a word to one another." Finnick picked up his mug, but before the liquid reached his lips, another thought came to him and he lowered the glass. "Wait, two?"

"Don't be daft, the both of you." Callum pointed towards Patrick, and the younger man shifted in his seat. "You can't get up the courage to talk to a lady. You can't be disappointed when none of them notice your existence." Finnick snorted, and Patrick's lips tightened in annoyance. "And you," Callum continued, turning towards Finnick, "learn how to count. You shouldn't even have needed all of your fingers for that one."

Finnick grinned and took the insult with a shrug. "Why would I want to do that? It seems that not being able to count has done me well." He looked over to the bar, where the dark-haired woman stood with a man who looked as though he had once wrestled bears in the circus. Despite the man's enormous size, Finnick barely paid him any mind, instead focusing on the woman. She was slender and petite, and her dark hair was beginning to escape from the tight, rigid bun at the back of her head. Her hands danced over the taps as she stretched up to grab another clean mug. The apron she wore was tied just tight enough to reveal a hint of her waist –

Callum punched him in the shoulder. "Stop it. You'll scare her away if you keep watching her like that." Finnick pushed his brother in return. When he looked back, the woman was returning with two nearly overfilling mugs.

"And one for each of you two," she said, handing one to each of his brothers. The barmaid carefully avoided Finnick's eyes.

They murmured their thanks, and Callum met Finnick's eyes and raised his eyebrows. He bit down on his lower lip for just an instant before clearing his throat. "Ma'am?" he asked. The woman turned towards him, green eyes wide. "Might I know your name, please? It only seems fair, since you obviously know mine already."

"Annette Cresta. Pleasure to meet you." She extended her hand, which he took. Her palms were sweaty and sticky from hours of work, but it was still with reluctance that he loosened his grip. "Finnick O'Daire, yes?"

He nodded, and Patrick jabbed a finger between his ribs under the table. Taking the hint, he added, "and these are my older brothers, Callum and Patrick." He rubbed the new sore spot and glared at Patrick, who was too busy looking up at Annie, a wide smile pasted to his face, to notice.

"Pleasure," she said. "It's very nice to meet all of you." With one last glance towards Finnick, Annie retreated back towards the bar. He forced himself not to watch her leave, instead dragging his attention back to his brothers.

Though Callum smirked across the table at him, Finnick waited until Annie was well out of earshot to lean in and ask if either of them had ever seen her here before. "She wasn't here last week, was she?"

"I didn't see her," Patrick said, and Callum nodded his agreement. "On the other hand, I don't think either of us was quite as interested as you. We could have missed her."

"I suppose so." He took a long swig, savoring the slight burn against his tongue. Finnick smiled against the lip of his glass, tracking a single, dark head through the crowd as Callum and Patrick started to talk about their plans for the next day.

* * *

_Hands and lips glide across skin, the only barrier between them a thin coat of sweat. He murmurs his love against her cheek, and she gasps as he tugs at her ear with his teeth. He soothes the area with a gentle kiss, allowing his hands roam down her body, rubbing and squeezing, worshipping every inch of her. Eventually, his lips follow the path his hands have created, and she melts underneath him, the only sound their pants and the occasional groan. She is pliant in his hands now as he moved up to again kiss her lips. She parts her legs, and her rosy, swollen lips seem to beg for more, which he happily provides. He can see ecstasy growing in her green eyes as they move together, and he watches, entranced, as the muscles in her face grow taut before finally relaxing in perfect bliss. He follows her into heaven, and they kiss and nestle together as their hearts slow and sleep claims them._

His sheets were damp when he awoke. Finnick lay still for a long moment, savoring the memory of his dream. But all too soon, the day called, and he had to lift himself from his bed, nearly hitting his head on the low ceiling of the apartment in the process, just as he did every morning. Ruffling his bronze hair with his fingers, he went to collect his clothing from the floor, where he'd haphazardly thrown it the night before in an attempt to get both cool and undressed as quickly as possible. He stifled a yawn with his hand as he walked into the family's main living area.

"Good morning, lad." Mags smiled at him and raised herself from her usual chair. Finnick couldn't help but notice how heavily she leaned on her cane as she held out one arm for an embrace. He gave her a gentle hug. "You won't break me, child," she laughed, and he tightened his grip slightly. Finnick took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of soap and tea that he had adored since childhood and would never stop associating with his first glimpse of his new home. Mags kissed his forehead as they separated. "Tell me, have you been on your best behavior?" He nodded and started to lower her back into the chair, but she stopped him. "No, we'll be off in just a couple minutes. These old bones don't like to get up again once they're down."

"I'm glad you made time to see us on your way to Mass," he said. Silently, he counted the days since he had last seen the old woman. It certainly hadn't been in the last week; he needed to make a point of going for a visit every few days. Family deserved far better.

She smiled. "We'll be off soon. Go make yourself presentable. Your brother will be back and ready before we know it." The woman shooed him over to the corner, where a bowl of water and a cloth waited.

Finnick set about washing up. "Have you already bullied him into coming, then?" he asked as he scrubbed the last traces of his dirty work on the fishing boats off his hands.

"We both know that Patrick's a good lad. Why would I want to force or bully him into anything?" she replied with false innocence.

He wrinkled his nose at the feeling of rough cloth scraping against his face. "Where did you send him off to?"

"He said he had some errands to run before we could leave. I think he was just looking for an excuse not to go, but I'm sure he'll prove me wrong. Just as I said, he's a good one, and I know he wouldn't lie to a helpless old woman."

Finnick snorted at the thought of Mags as anything even approaching helpless, but not daring to say anything, he continued to wash. Soon, the door squeaked on its hinges, and heavy footsteps caused the dish to rattle on the table. "Hello, Patrick. How are you today?" He smirked at the older man when his brother scowled at him. Patrick's pale face was pale and there was a tense weariness in his features that revealed he was feeling the aftereffects of a night out and several pints far more acutely than Finnick. "Grumpy, eh?"

"Be quiet," the other man grumbled.

"Boys." Mags ended their argument before it could fully begin. "Come along, I'll not have us be late. Lord knows you two need all the forgiveness you can get out of Him." She led them out of the apartment and into the busy streets. Their neighborhood, not far from the Five Points, was always crowded with horses and people, even on Sunday morning. "You two do clean up nicely," she said as they passed the grocer. Finnick's stomach growled, but he doubted the woman could hear it over the noise of the street. She would only scold him for not being up in time for his morning meal. "Yes, I'm certain that Mrs. Caughlin will be jealous indeed when she sees me with two handsome young men."

Finnick laughed. "So that's the reason you have us along – to show us off."

"Naturally. What else am I to do with two handsome young men?"

"You could have stopped over after Mass and let us have a quiet morning," Patrick muttered.

The old woman picked up her pace. "Now, dear, you know I'm old and deaf and can't hear you unless you speak up. I'm sure that whatever you said was a lovely compliment, though, so I'll thank you for it." Finnick looked over to see Patrick's cheeks reddening. He moved a step ahead of Mags to help her up the steps to the church door. "Thank you, love," she said, squeezing his hand. "And Finnick?"

"Yes?"

Mags looked into his eyes, her gaze direct. "I know that you drank every bit as much as your brother. You ought to be ashamed."

Finnick blushed and meekly followed her into the church. "Yes, ma'am." The sanctuary was awash in ruby and sapphire light from the glass windows above, and the voices of the choir swirled through the space as though echoing down from heaven. He felt lifted as he guided Mags to an open pew and waited for the Mass to begin. For the next two hours, he looked down at his folded hands to avoid the accusing eyes of the Virgin and Christ. The priest's voice washed over him, warning of the dangers of Hell and the possibility of redemption. He accepted the bread of the communion, and, as he always did, carefully turned it over several times in his hands before placing the thin wafer on his tongue. This bread tasted like guilt, dry and salty, for he could only think of how this mouthful of bread meant nothing to him but could have been enough to save Mam or Da or Ainsleigh. If only he'd not been ill that first winter here. If only he'd found work sooner. If only he hadn't always been so  _useless_.

Mags reached over and unclasped his hands, enfolding one of his large hands in both of her small, gentle hands. He looked over to her, and she smiled back at him.  _You're fine, love. Don't worry about a night of fun once in a while. You couldn't have changed what happened._ Finnick nodded and leaned down so she could press a kiss to his forehead. When he looked up again, it was compassion, not scolding, that he saw in the statue of the crucified Christ that stared back at him.


	4. Meeting His Eyes

Annie flushed a deep shade of pink as she busied herself with filling more glasses. Good Lord, why had her confidence left her? She had wanted to come off as a seductive young woman, not a nervous schoolgirl.

"So, have you two set the date yet? I'd better be invited."

She glared towards Johanna, who had crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the bar, the picture of confidence. The woman just couldn't leave her alone, could she? "I know that went somewhat less than perfectly – or, fine, I'll admit it, terribly. You don't have to be nasty about it," she snapped.

"Nasty? Me? I don't know what you're talking about." Johanna smirked at her for an instant, but then her features relaxed. "Really, Annie, I don't think it went badly. He certainly seemed interested."

Annie could feel herself relaxing. "You think so?" She looked back to the table just in time to catch a pair of green eyes dart away. Annie smiled at Finnick's shyness and turned back to her friend. "Maybe you're right." Johanna may have been annoying, but she did understand people better than anyone else Annie had ever met.

"I'm always right," the other woman scoffed. "Give me the credit I deserve."

"Your ego is already big enough; there's no need to add to it. Here, take these." She pushed three mugs into the other woman's arms, and a few drops of beer sloshing onto the counter. Annie grabbed a rag to clean up her mess, surprised to see Johanna still standing in front of her when she turned back again. She smirked. "This is supposed to be work, yes? Not a chance to socialize with attractive young men."

"I hate you." Johanna accepted the mugs with a scowl. "You're too well-behaved. And, what's more, you're wrong - I'm certain that it can be both."

Neither of them had noticed when the older woman walked up to them. Violet surprised Annie with a snap of a washrag against her arm, and both jumped. "Get back to work, the both of you. I won't have you mulling about doing nothing while I'm paying for your time." With a gentle push, Aunt Violet shooed Johanna away before turning back to her niece. "And you, Annabelle, be careful. I don't know about this Finnick O'Daire fellow. He certainly seems like a nice young man, but I'm going to have to get to know him far better before I let him anywhere near my family."

"I'm sure he's an upstanding citizen and his mother loves him very much," she said, smiling. Bringing in his mother's love would get a rise out of her aunt if anything would.

The other woman set her hands on her hips, making herself almost too wide to fit behind the bar. "Hmph. We'll see about that. Now, what was I just telling you about being lazy while you're supposed to be working?" She gestured out to the crowd, which was still growing. Annie wasn't sure how so many people could fit into such a small establishment, but she supposed it was good for her aunt's business. More patrons meant more money, and she knew her aunt could use every extra penny.

"I love you too, Aunt Violet," she replied as sweetly as she could. Annie finished wiping the spilled beer off the counter and curtsied to her aunt before going back into the crowd to deliver half a dozen of the filled mugs.

"Stop being insolent," the woman laughed, amused as always by her niece's displays. Then, her voice turned serious. "Just be careful, dear." Annie smiled in return, but did not reply, instead advancing further into the crowd.

Violet waited until the young woman was well out of hearing range before adding, "Yes, love, be very, very careful. And let's see what I can figure out about this Mr. O'Daire before he gets too close." But there was no time for that now, when dishes needed washing and stew needed stirring and customers that needed a watchful eye kept on them. Later, though, she'd learn all there was to know about this potential new man of Annie's. She'd be damned if she'd let anyone who might try to hurt her near that girl.

* * *

Her mother's lips pursed in disapproval as Annie scooped small helpings of scrambled eggs onto the five plates before her. Annie tried to think of what she'd done wrong the day before. She had made her bed, helped prepare and clean up after breakfast, worked on the giant patchwork quilt that she and her sister had slaved over for so many hours, made dinner and supper… as far as she could tell, she had done everything her mother asked of her. She'd been a model daughter, and the same held true for the day before that. That left only Saturday night.  _Fantastic._

"Mother, I'm very sorry for my behavior on Saturday," Annie lied. No, she couldn't be sorry for helping her aunt, but she would say most anything to stop the chill that had hung between her and her mother for the last three days.

Martha Cresta's expression remained unchanged. "If you were truly sorry, you would not have done it in the first place, Annette. I didn't raise my daughter to be rude to her own mother. Just think of the horrible example you're setting for Georgia!"

Annie struggled to remain calm, and she could not keep the curtness out of her voice. "Then perhaps I'm not sorry. But I do regret my actions and hope that you will forgive me so that we can put them behind us." Not wanting to meet her mother's eyes, she focused on the plates in front of her, making sure each held exactly the same amount of fluffy yellow eggs.

Her mother didn't speak for long moments, and Annie felt her cheeks and the back of her neck flushing red. Finally, she had to stop examining the eggs and set the table. When she turned, Annie saw Martha staring back at her coolly. "There's a man, isn't there," she said, more statement than question. "Though, with you, boy might be the more appropriate word."

Annie wasn't certain how to answer that. No, she did not have a suitor of any kind, but she wished she did, and a part of her hoped that the handsome man from the Fox and Face would sweep her off her feet and take her far away from here. Actually, the longer this conversation went, the better that scenario sounded. Still, there was no purpose in admitting that besides making her mother even angrier, and she'd never been one for confrontation. "No, there isn't," she replied. Simple, not untrue, and polite. It would work as well as anything else would on her mother when she was in this mood.

"Don't lie to me! There's no other reason a girl your age would be so adamant about going to that hell hole all the time other than to see a man. And don't think I haven't noticed your behavior these last couple days. You've been off in your own little world, sighing and staring off into space. I'm not blind, Annette. I can see what you're up to, and it needs to stop. You won't be seeing any man without the permission of both me and your father."

"I'm not seeing anyone, and I'm certainly not lying. I just wanted to help Aunt Violet. She needed an extra pair of hands at the pub. Just ask her – she'll tell you it herself." Annie straightened to her full height, which though far from imposing, still allowed her to look down on her mother.

Her mother refused to be intimidated so easily. "You wouldn't admit it even if you were," she spat out. "No, you wouldn't see any man worth your time of day at that place. They're all scum and lowlives who have no better way of spending their hard-earned wages than on cheap liquor and loose women."

"There aren't any loose women there, Mother. It's a perfectly respectable establishment, as far as those type of places go."

"I'll believe it when I see proof. I don't know what your father was thinking, letting you work in that place. Lord knows what you're learning from that sister of mine. She always was a rotten one, I'll tell you that. This…  _pub_ of hers only makes it that much worse." She took a long, deep breath, which she released as a sigh. "I shudder at the thought of what goes on in that place. Please, Annette, be a good girl and fetch me some tea. I'm not strong enough for arguments anymore." Her mother lowered herself into her usual spot at the table, and Annie moved to make some tea.

She hoped Georgia would come back from helping their father in the shop soon. The only sounds were the low whistle of the teapot as it came to a boil and muffled voices from downstairs. Annie swallowed the dry lump that had formed in her throat and walked to her mother with the finished tea. "I'm sorry for my behavior these last few days," she said. "I know I've been more distracted than usual, but I promise that I'm not seeing anyone and I'm not in any trouble. I will try to do better."

Her mother smiled as she brought the tea to her lips, taking a sip before she nodded. "You know that I do not want you at that place."

"Yes."

"Yet you insist on going there anyway. It does make a mother worry." She took another sip and gestured for Annie to sit. "You would tell me if there was a man, wouldn't you? I would want to know, even if you don't think I'd approve."

"Of course I would. I am telling the truth."

Martha smiled, her skin crinkling along the wrinkles that lined her face. A few locks of her graying brown hair had escaped their bun and curled down to her shoulders. It was in moments like this that Annie caught a glimpse of the woman she might someday become. It both worried and fascinated her to the point that she did not realize her mother had been speaking until Martha prodded her for a reply. "Sorry, Mother, I didn't catch that."

"Distracted again? I thought you were going to try to be better about that."

"I said I would try. Self-improvement is a long and difficult journey." Annie looked at the plates, already full of food but largely forgotten. "So, as part of my mission to be a more aware daughter, should I call Father and Georgia upstairs for dinner?"

"Please do." Martha cradled her tea in her hands as she glanced up towards heaven and shook her head. Annie could almost guess the contents of the prayer her mother recited as she hurried downstairs.

* * *

One step into the street, Annie could already feel the tension draining from between her shoulders. Five days was really too long to go without seeing Aunt Violet and Johanna; it was certainly too long to be spent with little company besides her immediate family. The sounds of the city surrounded her as vendors and their customers argued over prices, neighbors gossiped, and animals pulled carts through the cobblestone streets. The streets never smelled good, but Annie took a deep breath anyway. This was as close as she ever came to freedom, and she would savor it for all it was worth.

The walk to the Fox and Face never lasted long, and Annie's eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room when she stepped inside. "Hello?" she asked.

"Annie! We're in the kitchen." Her aunt poked her head out to wave hello.

Johanna's voice came from the other room. "You don't have to sound so happy. He's not here yet."

"Johanna, leave the poor girl alone."

"You know that's why she's so excited to be here. It isn't to see us, I'm sure."

Annie grinned as she tied her apron tight around her waist and hurried into the kitchen. "And why wouldn't I be excited to see my favorite people?" she asked.

Johanna rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you're still practicing that charming routine. I thought you'd have it all ready to go for when he got here."

"When? So he is coming tonight?" Annie beamed at the other two women.

"Make that  _if_ he gets here. I'm not a fortune-teller; how am I supposed to know?" Johanna pushed a few loaves of bread into her hands. "Come on, we don't want to hear about this Finnick O'Daire all night. We'll have to get some work out of you also."

Violet watched as Annie moved to start slicing the loaves, smiling at the girl's happily dazed expression. "He was asking about you the last time he was here," she said. "I'd bet a pretty penny that he'll show up tonight."

Annie knew Johanna hated it when she sang as she worked, so she hummed instead. Given how happy she was, it was really quite considerate of her to stop just for her friend's benefit, but judging by the constant elbowing to her ribs, Johanna didn't think it an improvement. Nevertheless, she didn't stop until the customers began to file in through the narrow doorway. No amount of grumpiness was going to spoil this evening, no matter how hard Johanna tried.

She handed out full glasses and picked up empty ones. She stirred pots and ladled out bowls of stew. She wiped up spills and cleaned mugs and counted coins. But mostly, Annie waited, hoping that a certain pair of broad shoulders would walk through the door.

She wasn't disappointed. Just when the crowd began to thin, she spotted a familiar bronze head sitting at the corner booth. Johanna slapped her on the back, causing her to spill a mug full of beer onto the counter, but Annie couldn't be angry. He came.  _Time to be brave, Annie._ She turned her back to him and picked up a glass, using her distorted reflection in it as a guide to fix her hair. Annie ignored Johanna's smirk as she took a full mug and walked over to the table. "How are you tonight?" she asked as she placed the mug in front of him.

Finnick smiled up at her. "I'm doing better now. How about you?"

"I'm well." Annie bit down on her lower lip. She really should be working right now, not making idle chitchat with a handsome almost-stranger, but opportunities as promising as this one did not arise every day. Only a handful of patrons still remained, and Johanna and Brutus could easily handle them…

"Would you care to sit down? Some company would be welcome. I could buy you a drink, if you'd like."

Annie glanced towards the bar to check that her aunt wasn't watching before smiling and taking the seat across from him. "I think I'll have to decline on the drink, though. My mother wouldn't like it."

"Does it bother you if I partake?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. I do realize that's why people come here."

He flushed. Ah, perhaps a pint or two wasn't why everyone was here tonight. She found herself fiddling with the ties of her apron and forced her hands to be still. "We met a couple weeks ago, yes?" Not the best way to start a conversation, but Annie considered it a valiant effort.

"Yes, the Saturday before last. I'm Finnick O'Daire," he said, reaching across the table to offer his hand.

She took his hand and shook. His hands had rough callouses, but his grip was gentle and the smile on his face was genuine. Annie felt butterflies in her stomach. "And I'm Annie Cresta. It's very nice to meet you for a second time. How is business? Actually, what is your business?"

"I'm surprised your aunt hasn't told you everything about me. She certainly wanted to learn everything there is to know."

"Oh, I didn't realize you'd spoken with Aunt Violet." Annie wished that she'd taken him up on his offer for a drink. Yes, she'd never had more than a sip or two out of curiosity before, but it would give her something to do with her hands.

"We talked when I came in on Saturday. You weren't there that night." He looked down into his mug and chuckled. "She's very protective. You're lucky to have her."

"I agree. Aunt Violet's wonderful." Annie met his eyes and held them for a second longer than was probably proper. Her cheeks flushed as she finally looked away. Her hands tightened into fists under the table. For a moment, both of them struggled to find something to talk about. Finnick distracted himself by taking another sip of ale. "What is your family like?" she asked, finally having come up with a new topic.

He choked and sputtered on his drink. Finnick put up a hand, signaling for her to wait until he had swallowed. Annie passed him a cloth that she had stowed in her pocket earlier that evening and smiled. Their interactions so far had been awkward, strange, and more than a bit uncomfortable, but Annie thought it could blossom into something wonderful. Maybe, just maybe, this was what love felt like.


	5. Heaven's Light

Finnick's skin felt raw as he scrubbed, working away days' worth of sweat and grime. Though the water was warm and musty, he relished even the modicum of relief it offered from the sun's heat. He'd suffered through nearly a decade of summers in New York, but each year, they surprised him. They'd never had heat like this in Ireland. "What are you so excited about?" asked Patrick from the other side of the room.

"I didn't realize I had to be excited about something to wash my face."

"You've been standing there scrubbing for at least five minutes. You're up to something and don't want to tell me about it." Patrick crossed his arm over his chest and leaned back against their table, which groaned from the subtle pressure. "So, what – or who – are you seeing tonight that I'm not supposed to know about?"

Finnick worked on patting his face dry. "I'm going back to the pub from last week."

"Seeing that girl again, eh? The pretty little dark-haired one."

"I hope so." Very much, more than he could possibly admit to his older brother without being laughed at. Finnick had only met Annie Cresta once, but ever since, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. If he could see her again, maybe he would realize that she was not special, that Miss Cresta had nothing that dozens or even hundreds of other young women did not also possess. He hoped he found that this infatuation had been born of nothing more than too much drink. No reasonable man fell this hard so quickly.

He turned his head to see Patrick still watching him, smiling. "Be quiet," Finnick said.

"I didn't say anything. Someone's a bit defensive tonight, aren't they?"

"You're lucky that, as your brother, I am obligated to love you and not bash your face in."

His brother snorted. "You wouldn't hurt a fly, and we both know it. Now, Finnie, are you going to be nice to all the other children?" Patrick teased.

Finnick frowned at him as he finger-combed his unruly bronze hair. It wouldn't hide the sun-bleached portions from long hours each day spent out on the fishing boats, but he should at least attempt to look presentable for the woman he couldn't keep out of his mind. "I'll probably be late tonight," he said.

"I'm sure." Patrick winked at him, and Finnick gave him a shove on his way out the door. It didn't stop his laughter.

* * *

Where was she? He'd been here for well over an hour, and Finnick was certain he'd been watching the crowd closely enough to know if a certain green-eyed woman was serving drinks today. He avoided the eyes of the tall bald man that had been watching him from the corner. Yes, he knew that he was taking up space at the crowded establishment and had only purchased one beer the entire evening, but he wanted to still be in his right mind should he find Annie here.

He looked down into the cup, disappointed that it held no more liquid. Finnick reached into his pocket, checking that he had a few pennies for another. He'd be damned if he missed an opportunity to find her again. Once he'd pulled out all his extra money for the week, he decided he did have enough for another couple pints. "Oi!" He waved towards the man, who nodded at him. Finnick nearly jumped out of his seat when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Spinning around quickly, he saw the woman that ran and perhaps owned the pub. "Goodnight," he said. "Can I have another, please?"

"Of course, dear. Let me grab a couple for the lads over there, and I'll be right back." Making good on her promise, the woman returned a few moments later with a full pint. "Where are your friends tonight?"

Surprised she remembered him, he shrugged and smiled up at her. "They're my brothers, actually, and they're at home, resting like they should be. I suppose I'm the slow one of the bunch."

She grinned. "Oh, Finnick, I'm sure that's not true. You ought to drag them out again next week. The three of you make for good customers."

"Thank you. It's a nice place," he said. Finnick tipped his drink in a salute before taking a sip. The woman started to walk away, but he called her back. "Excuse me," he asked, "but do you know, will Miss Cresta be here tonight?"

The woman's eyes turned stony, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, let's talk about Miss Cresta. Might I have a seat?"

Without waiting for a reply, she took the spot directly across the table from Finnick. Not speaking, she watched him. He felt as though all his faults had been laid bare before the stern woman. Like a ragged child in the sweets shop, he had been caught gazing too long at something he could only ever dream of having, and now it was time to be shooed away with a few biting words. Though Finnick must have had at least a foot on the woman, he felt very small. Fighting the urge to slouch down in his seat to escape her, he tried to feign innocence. "I'm not sure what we have to discuss," he said.

"We can start with your intentions towards her."

Though sunset had brought some relief from the heat of the day, Finnick felt his cheeks go warm. "I don't have any intentions," he lied. "I only want to talk to her, get to know her a bit. She seems to be a very nice girl."

The woman did not relent. "My niece is a very nice girl indeed, and that's why the two of us need to be very honest with each other. I'll start. If you hurt my Annie, I will do my absolute best to make your life a living hell. And don't you underestimate my ability to do exactly that. Trust me, I can and will do whatever I can to make sure you pay for hurting her if she comes out of this with a broken heart."

He nodded, his motions rigid. God, this woman could go from friendly to terrifying more quickly than anyone he'd ever met. "That's… that's very good to know."

"It is always good to know what's coming, isn't it?"

Finnick couldn't stop himself from shuddering. Still, he looked into the woman's eyes as he spoke. "I have no intention of ever hurting Miss Cresta," he began. "She seems like a very kind, smart woman that I wish to get to know. I have no plans or intentions for her, or for us, but I certainly would never try to hurt her. Please, do believe me on that point."

She smiled. "I know you won't, but it's always good to check about things like this, isn't it? Now, Finnick, let's talk about you and why you are or are not suitable for my dear Annie. What do you do for a living? If it's not too rude to ask, or even if it is, how much do you make? What does your future look like as far as employment goes?"

"Well, I work on a fishing boat. It's mostly physical labor, though I do a bit of bartering with the merchants for our catch as well. I don't make much money and will never be rich, but I'm able to get by." She smiled at him, and he felt his confidence grow. "As far as the future goes, I'm not certain where I'll be. I've been working on the boats for several years now, all with the same captain, and he does appreciate the hard work I put in and has no children of his own. I think there's a possibility that in a few years, he'll try to sell me the boat, or perhaps he'll sell to someone else who will have me act as the captain and allow me to make a bit more money. Or maybe I'll end up doing something entirely different. I really don't know." He took a deep breath, glad the questioning was over.

Finnick could not have been more wrong. When he was finally allowed to leave hours later, his throat felt raw with overuse, but he could not have been happier. Violet Jennings was indeed a dangerous woman to cross, but he knew now that a certain green-eyed barmaid would be at the Fox and Face in three days' time.

* * *

"What is your family like?" she asked, smiling at him from across the table. Her fingers twisted themselves into nervous knots as she spoke.

His world froze.  _Family_ brought images of three worn headstones cramped together in the churchyard, overgrown with a decade's worth of brambles that nobody cared enough about to clear away, of emaciated, decomposing bodies that he'd last said goodbye to when they had full cheeks and sparkling eyes. Finnick saw arms that had now lost their flesh, but could have wrapped around him in tight embraces if he hadn't been so worthless. As the waves swept over Finnick, a distant part of him realized that he was coughing, choking on his drink.

But family also meant redheaded older brothers that he'd long since outgrown and a sister who scolded one moment and laughed along the next. For now, that was all Annie needed to know; for now, that was all he could bear to tell her. He forced himself to swallow and control his breathing, to look Annie in the eye and tell her the good bits instead of the bad. "I have two brothers, the two men who were with me the other night, if you remember them. Callum, he's the oldest one, just got married a few months ago to Molly, the sweetest woman you'll ever meet. Patrick's a few years older than me – the shorter one. Then there's Clodagh, my older sister. She's a bit like a mother to all of us, always telling us off when we're up to no good, but she's good for a laugh as well. She and her husband, Breandan his name is, they've two little ones." His face flushed when he realized how long he'd been talking about his family. True, the woman across the table still seemed engaged, leaning ever so slightly in towards him and her eyes never leaving his, but his stories could not be very interesting. He smiled at her. "I still don't know anything about you besides that you have a very protective aunt and aren't much of a drinker."

"What more could you possibly want to know? It sounds like you have me all figured out." Short, stray hairs had escaped from her bun and curled with the dampness in the air and her forehead shined with sweat, but with the laughter in her green eyes, Finnick doubted he had ever seen a prettier woman.

His smile widened. "No, I've misjudged you, Miss Cresta. I've forgotten that you like to make trouble as well."

"Just a little bit," she corrected. "It keeps life interesting."

Finnick shrugged. "Sometimes, I prefer a boring life. It seems that excitement too often comes in the worst of ways."

"But would you rather live a life where you were perfectly safe and always knew what was coming next because nothing ever changed or one with a bit of excitement, knowing you had everything to lose and a world to gain?" She rested her forearms on the table now, both her posture and the intensity in her eyes perfectly, irresistibly unladylike.

He took a long drink and pondered her question. The obvious answer, it seemed, was to forego any chance for excitement for the safety the first life offered, but he remembered the thrill that rocked through every fiber of his body when a rough wave hit the  _Syrena_ and threatened for an instant to capsize the boat. Not even the glory of success could compare. Would he really give up that thrill for a life full only of the familiar? Finnick found himself shaking his head. "I suppose that I'd have to accept a bit of excitement, but just a bit. I think too much would make me go old young, and I'm not ready for gray hair and wrinkles yet."

She thought for a moment before she nodded. "I think I agree with you. It'd be terrible, always knowing exactly what was coming next, no surprise, no adventure. I don't think I could do it." He was glad to see that her hands had stilled; he didn't want to make her nervous.

"So, I'll have to add that you're a bit of an adventure-seeker to my list as well," said Finnick.

Annie laughed. "No, not at all. I've never been further than a mile or two outside of the city and have done nothing interesting. I like the idea of adventure, but I've never actually gone on one. You, on the other hand, have, I'm sure." She cocked her head to one side and arched an eyebrow, obviously waiting for his reply.

"I've never been on anything you could call an adventure." He had no chance with her. She wanted someone interesting, someone who could show her the world. Finnick barely had enough money to buy a few drinks; he'd never be able to give her the life she wanted.

Her next words surprised him. "Of course you have! You came here, didn't you? Tell me about coming over from Ireland. What was it like?"

"What would you like to know?"

"Anything, really. How long did it take, what it was like to go on a boat, who you traveled with, everything."

He'd never thought that tales of being stuffed into a dark, dank, too-small hold with a hundred other immigrants would be how he spent the first night with a woman who was just as special as he'd remembered. But then again, Finnick had long ago realized that it was the things he least expected that had the biggest impact.


	6. A World Apart

_August 1859_

She knew how many tallies there would be, but she counted them all the same. It was silly and impractical and held no meaning for anyone else, but Annie smiled as she made the hundredth strike on the stolen ledger sheet.          

“Stop smiling. You’re keeping me awake,” Georgia complained.

Annie reached to the other side of the bed to shove her sister. “My smiling is not keeping you up. I wasn’t making any noise at all until you said that.”

“It’s you and that count of yours. I hear you do it every single morning, and I can never decide whether it’s lovely or sickening. Today, I decided it makes me ill, so I suggest you stop smiling so I can go back to sleep and not think about it.” Her sister pulled the blankets up over her head, but Annie tugged them down again.

“Sickening? Georgia, that’s a terrible thing to say!” She wrinkled her nose and rolled over, but Annie would not let her leave the conversation there. “What’s so horrible about it? Tell me.”

Georgia turned her head to look at her sister. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she spoke. “I suppose that it’s a bit sickening in a couple of ways. First, it’s so sweet, almost like something out of a novel, you know, a princess who counts every day her knight’s been away. So sweet it makes you ill, you know?” Annie nodded, and her sister continued, “But at the same time, I’m so worried for you. I don’t know this person, so I can’t know whether or not you’re safe with him. I’m scared he’ll hurt you, or that he’s wonderful and our parents won’t like him.” She wiped away a tear. “Annie, I’m so afraid for you, and there’s nothing I can do to change anything and make it better.” Georgia bit down on her lip to stop herself from trembling.

Annie lay back down and gathered the other girl up in her arms. “Shh, it’s all right.” She rubbed her sister’s back, wishing she knew how to comfort her.

“You would tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you?” Georgia asked, her words muffled by Annie’s shoulder. She could feel tears soaking through the fabric of her nightgown.

“Of course I would. What can I do to make this better?”

Her sister went still, and Annie could almost picture the thoughts buzzing through her mind. She wondered what exactly Georgia would come up with, hoping it would not be too difficult or painful. The girl did have a bit of an evil streak, at least when it came to her older sister. Georgia moved away from her shoulder to look into her eyes. With a steady voice, she said, “Bring him here.”

She flinched as she imagined Finnick in his threadbare shirt and trousers sitting in the Crestas’ dining room, her mother studying him with disapproving eyes from the opposite side of the table. Martha Cresta would see only Finnick’s calloused hands and lingering accent. Anything else, everything Annie saw, would be lost on her. She could already feel the shame of her mother’s disappointment, and Annie’s stomach clenched with worry. Still, she nodded to Georgia, doing her best to smile. “I’d love to,” she lied.

Georgia snorted. “I’m certain that’s why you haven’t brought it up until now.”  She shrugged, unsure of what to say to that, and her sister smiled in return. “I’m sure it will go better than you think. Mother won’t approve of him, but does she actually like or approve of anybody?”

“Georgia!”

“I can’t help that it’s true! Father might like him, and I think we would all rest a little easier knowing who it is you’ve been spending all that time with.”

Annie frowned. “We’re only ever together in the pub, and Aunt Violet is right there with us. Surely you all know that nothing untoward happens.” She paused for a moment as the next question came to her. “Wait, how do you all know about Finnick in the first place? I understand that you know, but how would anyone else have figured out about us?”

Georgia smirked at her, one eyebrow raised, and waited. Annie allowed the silence to linger between them for only a moment before pressing her sister. “Come on, tell me.” She shoved the other girl, and Georgia nearly tumbled off the bed.

 Just before she hit the ground, she caught herself, and after a quick moment of terrified silence when both sisters worried that their mother would hear their conversation, Georgia giggled. Annie helped her back onto the bed. She grabbed the covers and rearranged them around herself. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know. All the daydreaming is a bit suspicious. I’m not sure that the rest of them realize what you’ve been up to, but they know there’s something wrong. Father’s asked me once or twice if you’re all right.”

“And?”

“And what?" asked Georgia.

“Well, what did you say?”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “I said that you hadn’t told me about anything wrong, but that I’d ask you to be certain. And now I have, so I suppose everything really is fine.”

Annie nodded and smiled at her. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re very welcome. So, after a hundred days, what have you learned?”

“You count the tallies too?” Goodness, how nosy could she be?

“I don’t count them, no, but it’s difficult not to hear you counting them under your breath every morning. You’d think at nineteen you’d be able to count without talking, wouldn’t you? But no, of course not. That would be bearable.” Georgia pulled the covers over her again. “So, if you’re done being lovesick for the morning, I think I’ll get some more sleep before it’s time to get up.” She collapsed down into the bed, eyes closed in feigned sleep.

Annie looked over to the window and saw that sunlight already peeking through around the curtains’ edge. “I don’t think you’re going to have any time for that,” she said.

“You can’t even let me pretend for a while, can you?” Georgia cracked open one eye to glare at her.

She grinned when she heard a rap on the door. “Annette, Georgia, time to get up!” their mother announced.

“Come along, Georgia!” She nudged her sister, who only groaned and threw an arm over her eyes in response. “It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing –“

“The sisters are going to be injured if they keep this up –“

“And it’s all out there waiting for you to enjoy it!” She pulled off the covers, ignoring her sister’s groans. Morning in the Cresta household wouldn’t be complete without a little sibling torture, now would it? Annie could hear dishes clattering together as their mother started breakfast, and she knew that she only had a few minutes left with her sister. “Georgia?” She heard a grunt in reply. “I’ll talk to him about coming here the next time I see him.” Their eyes met, and Annie could already see that some of her sister’s worry had melted away. 

* * *

 

 She glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. “The one day I have something important to tell him, and he doesn’t show up on time.”

Johanna’s attention did not waver from the dirty dishes before her. “We’re not even open yet. Don’t worry about it.”

Annie finished drying a mug and set it aside. “I want him to meet my family.”

At that, her friend stilled. “Do they know that you’ve been seeing him?”

“Georgia thinks they know that I’m up to something, but my parents don’t know about him, no.”

Johanna’s next words were quiet. “Will they be all right with him? Your mother doesn’t seem the sort that would approve of an Irish, Catholic fisherman for her daughter.”  

Annie looked back down at her dishes, biting down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. “I know, but if we’re ever going to be together, I need my family to like him.” Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence, and she hoped the other woman had not noticed.

As always, no such luck. “When did hell freeze over and make me the responsible, maternal one?” Johanna swore under her breath as she searched for a clean rag. Not finding one, she snatched Annie’s drying rag out of her hands. “Come on, stop being emotional and clean yourself up. Nobody likes tears and snot and moping.”

Annie flinched when Johanna attacked her face with the rag. “Stop it!” She blindly stepped backwards, trying to escape. Finally, she pulled the rag out of Johanna’s grip. “Were you trying to clean me up or wipe my face away?” she said, looking down at the now unusable cloth.

“Whichever happened first,” the other woman replied, and Annie had to laugh. “Be quiet, it’s not funny.”

“Not even a little bit?”

Johanna curled back her lips to bare her teeth, which only intensified Annie’s laughter. Realizing that her strategy was not helping the situation, she reached for the rag again. “Do you want me to see if I can’t scrape off that god-damn smirk off of you.” She rushed at the other woman, and Annie fled to the other side of the room. Johanna did not follow her, and Annie looked back to see her leaning against the wall, a sly grin on her face. “Maternal and responsible indeed,” she said.

Annie just shook her head.

“You really don’t need to worry too much, you know. I doubt Finnick has much difficulty winning over the ladies. You might find yourself fighting with your mother over him in a way neither of you saw coming.” Johanna gave her a perfectly evil grin.

She scrunched her nose at her. “Thank you, Johanna. That’s exactly what I wanted to think about tonight. How did you know?”

“How did she know what?”

Her skirts billowed out around her as she whirled around towards the newcomer. “Finnick!” She could already feel her face growing red. Why had Johanna felt it necessary to bring up that terrible possibility? She pushed the thought away. “How are you tonight?”

“I’m doing well. You?” He smiled at her and nodded towards Johanna. “Miss Mason, it’s lovely to see you.”

“We all know you aren’t here for me, O’Daire. You can stop pretending any time now.” She put several mugs into Annie’s hands. “And since you’re being paid for this time, you might as well be working. Come along, you can help too,” she said, motioning towards Finnick. He gathered up a few dishes and followed the two women out of the kitchen. “Now, put those down before Annie tells you her big news.”

“Johanna!”

“What? I don’t want him dropping anything.”

Finnick’s confusion was written all over his handsome features. “Annie, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing bad,” she assured him, but judging from the worry in his eyes, her words did not have their intended effect. “I was just thinking that we’ve known each other for a while now, and you’ve been coming to see me so often, that maybe I should tell my parents that I’ve been seeing you, and maybe you should come to meet them.” _And here’s the part where he runs away terrified,_ she mentally added. Annie worried her lip with her teeth as she waited for his response, worried that he would leave.

“Your parents don’t know about me?”

Not the answer she had been dreading, but also not what she had been hoping for. Annie counted that as a point in her favor. “I didn’t want them to make me stop coming here.”

He looked down at his feet for a moment, and when he lifted his head again, Annie could see he was beaming. “But you’re ready now?” Finnick closed the gap between them and took her hand in his.

She nodded. “You?”

“I’m excited to meet them.” His smile was so earnest, so genuine, that Annie did not have the heart to tell him what her mother would think. It would not matter to Martha Cresta that this man made her daughter smile or that her heart beat faster every time he walked into the room. No, she had already made up her mind as far as the Irish were concerned, and Annie doubted there was anything Finnick could do to change that.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Annie smiled up at him, and if Johanna were not there with them, she would have raised herself up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Her aunt’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “The two of you are going to have hell to face for this. I hope you realize that.” Annie quickly stepped away from Finnick, and her aunt, seeing Annie’s embarrassment, shook her head. “No, not from me love. It’s the rest of the world that won’t like the idea of the two of you together.”

Annie reached for Finnick’s hand again, and he squeezed back. One glance into his green eyes told her everything she needed to know. “We’ll manage. We need this more than anything.” The woman nodded, but Annie could still see the same worry that twisted in her own gut etched across her aunt’s face. 

* * *

 

She twisted the fabric around her fingers again, this time tightly enough that she could feel the blood that she had trapped pounding for escape. Annie forced herself to let go of her skirt. She had done everything she could; there was no use for worry now. With a couple deep breaths, she should be fine. After a series of five long, deep breaths, Annie wondered if that trick had ever actually worked for anybody. “Calm down, Annie,” she whispered to herself. Naturally, that didn’t work either. She hurried over to the window to see if she could spot any familiar figures in the street, but no bronze heads poked out above the others in the jumble of people, animals, and wagons.

“He’ll be here soon, Annie, don’t worry.” Georgia watched her from the table. Like Annie, she had spent the better part of the last week doing every imaginable chore to make the apartment spotless. Their mother would not have a guest, no matter how unsuitable she thought them, if their home was less than perfect, and her children knew better than to complain.

She moved away from the window. “I just want this to be over with.”

There was a knock on the door. “And I think your wish has been granted.” Georgia stood and helped Annie straighten her dress for at least the dozenth time in the last hour. “Best of luck?”

“I think I’m going to need it.”


	7. Dining on Ashes

His Sunday best was not going to be good enough. Finnick had done everything he could to make himself presentable, but when he looked across the street at the well-maintained, three-story brick building that held both Crestas' Dried Goods and the family's home, he knew he would never fit. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he would never quite be able to wash away the smell of the docks, of fish, seawater, and the sweat of a hundred bodies. Mags had resewn the buttons on his shirt and trousers and taken out a seam here and there to make them fit a bit better, but it would take more than clever tailoring to hide that, even on his best clothes, the cloth at the elbows and knees was wearing thin.

Being late was not an option, so he had left his rented room early, leaving Finnick with plenty of time just to stare at the building before him and worry. The city did not slow around him. He supposed the busy street made the ideal spot for Mr. Cresta's shop, but it did not allow him much peace. He had to step out of the way a dozen times for carts laden with goods or little old ladies finishing up the day's shopping. Finnick pulled his arms in close to his sides and shuffled over to stand against one of the other buildings. After close to ten years in this city, he thought he would be accustomed to the crowds, but as he watched and listened to the scene before him, he still marveled at the sheer variety of life that occupied New York.

No matter how much he would like to try, Finnick could not stay out here forever. Eventually, he would have to go into the belly of the beast, and that time might as well be now. He squared his shoulders and straightened up to his full height. Finnick knew he must look ridiculous, swaggering like a sailor newly home on leave across the street, but perhaps with a bit of false confidence he could convince himself that this really would go well. After one more glance to be sure he was going to the right home, he stopped in front of the door. He has adjusted his collar what seemed like a hundred times already this evening, but it still pinched at his neck. Or perhaps his discomfort was due to what awaited him inside. He and Annie had gone over this scenario with Violet and Johanna several times over their last few meetings, but those counted for nothing now. Finnick loosened his collar one more time before lifting the Crestas' worn brass knocker.

"You must be Mr. O'Daire," said a voice from behind him. Finnick turned to find a short man with Annie's dark hair and green eyes looking back at him with a smile on his face.

Perhaps this wouldn't go so badly after all. "I am. Mr. Cresta, I presume?" The man nodded, and Finnick smiled and reached out to give the man a firm handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you." The man pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, motioning for Finnick to follow him up the stairs. Before he began to climb, Finnick allowed himself a quick moment of relief. From what Callum had told him, meeting her father was the hard part, and it would only get easier from here. Later, when he looked back at the evening, Finnick would marvel at just how wrong he had been.

* * *

He knew his family was poor; anybody could see that, but only here in the Cresta's dining room did he realize just how well off she was in comparison. Five framed prints sat in a neat row on the wall, the Bible scenes illustrated in them as soft and attractive as the room they decorated. He had been seated at the short edge of the table, facing her father, and her mother's accusing eyes watched him from his left. Annie's brother sat between him and Annie, and though he knew she had not abandoned him by choice, he felt as though he had been marooned on a desert island circled by sharks.

After Violet Jenning's interrogation, he thought he was prepared for anything, but this evening had proved him wrong. The instant he sat down, he had been met with a volley of questions, each more probing than the last. Now, Finnick just hoped he still had some slim chance of impressing them enough to be with Annie. Perhaps that was too much to hope for. "So, Finnick, how often do you go to church?" her mother asked.

"I go to Mass every Sunday," he answered almost honestly. True, he hadn't been the weekend before last, but he was usually very good about it, and they didn't need to know about such small transgressions. He almost missed the superior glance that Mrs. Cresta gave Annie's father, but when he noticed the motion, his stomach sank. Finnick saw Annie purse her lips and stare down into her dinner plate, and he wished a thousand times over that he was anyone else for her.

"And what do you think about politics, son?"

He and Annie had talked about this before, and she had coached him on the correct answer to tell her parents, so he followed her script. "I think I'll be voting with the Republicans the next time we have an election. It's what's right for my fellow man, after all."  _People like you weren't worried about me or my family when we were starving, but you will split up an entire country for a few slaves. They have food, shelter, everything they need to live. You would do better to take a look at the tenements in this city than worry about what happens down in the Carolinas and Mississippi._

"It's unusual to hear such an enlightened answer from an Irishman," Mrs. Cresta responded. He hated the stress she put on that last word, as though it was something to be ashamed of. Though, he supposed, in this home, perhaps it was.

Charm had always been his greatest weapon. "A few of us are a bit more enlightened than the others, ma'am." His smiles always got him what he wanted, and surely Annie's mother was not immune.

Of course, he was disappointed. "You did meet Annette at a tavern, so I am not sure what you would categorize as enlightened."

Finnick floundered, searching for something to say. When he looked to Annie, the woman just shook her head. No way out, then. Her father watched him as he worked his way through his serving of beef, and Finnick could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. He looked between the five faces, hoping that one of them would reveal some clue for how to play this situation, but though all but Annie's mother seemed as though they wanted to help, nobody offered any suggestion. "So, are you a drunk, or merely well on your way to being one?"

"Neither. I don't overindulge." That, at least, was almost always true.

"Perhaps that is what you tell yourself, and maybe my daughter even believes it, but –"

"Martha." Robert Cresta's voice held no room for argument. "The man says he doesn't over imbibe, and, at least for tonight, that should be enough for us."

The woman sat back in her chair, but she kept her rail-straight posture and her eyes remained glued on Finnick. His heartrate sped up under her careful watch, and only when he thought he could not stand another instant of this torture did she speak. "Annie, please help me grab our last course." He smiled at Annie as she stood to do as her mother asked, but Martha was not finished. "Mr. Odair, you've been lovely company this evening, but I see no reason for you to stay any longer. I do hope you won't think it rude of us to have you show yourself out."

A fish out of water. He did not truly understand the phrase until he shuffled his way out of the Crestas' apartment and out into the still-crowded streets, alone in a city of thousands.

* * *

Before he met Annie, the weekly family post-Mass Sunday dinners at his sister's home had always been his favorite time of the week. Now, they could only claim second-best. The food was still delicious, and the company was even better. Three-year-old Mary, Clodagh and Conor's only child, buzzed between her adoring uncles, crawling up onto their laps and nicking a bite or two from their plate before hurrying on to her next victim, giggling the entire way. Finnick could not help but smile at her whenever she came close to his chair.

Though his entire family knew that he had been introduced to Annie's family, none of them brought up the topic during dinner. Finnick tried to forget about it as well, but his rejection still stung. He had not had a chance to talk to Annie since that night, and a part of him doubted he would ever see her again. He did not want their relationship to end like this, but at this point, that was hardly his decision to make.

The unspoken rule to leave Finnick's dinner at the Crestas' unmentioned during dinner, it seemed, went void as soon as the first of the plates were taken away. Patrick was the first to broach the subject. He rested his weight on his elbows and leaned towards Finnick as though their new proximity would allow him to learn the news more quickly than his other siblings. "Well, then? How did it go?"

Finnick did not have to ask what his brother was referring to. "It could have been better," he answered, pushing the food around his plate to avoid meeting his older brother's eyes. Everything else was better left unstated.

Patrick ignored Callum's warning stare. "Well, what happened? Did they hate you?"

"Don't you dare say another word, Patrick O'Daire. The poor lad doesn't need to give you any detail." Finnick looked up to see Patrick going red in the face as he struggled for words, and a warm hand rested on his shoulder. He smiled up at Clodagh. "Are you all right, Finn?" He thought for a moment before shaking his head. She stroked his hair. "Do you think you still have a chance with her?"

"I… I don't know." Clodagh wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to the top of his head, but nothing his sister did would allow him to undo the damage that had been done. "Clodagh, I don't think they're going to change their minds about me," he mumbled.

She stroked his bronze hair so much like her own. "Finnick, dear, when the Lord closes one door, He always opens another." Finnick began to shake his head. No, he had no use for another door. Annie Cresta was all he wanted, all he needed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Clodagh clapped her hand over it before he could speak. "But, you'd have to be a fool not to make sure that door was well and truly locked before you went on and looked for others," she continued. "You had spoken to this Miss Cresta before you met her parents, and I'm sure that you can find a way to do so again."

"But what if she –"

"Not another word from you. Do as I say, and see what comes of it. Do you understand me?"

Finnick grinned. "I thought I wasn't to say another word."

"And don't be smart with me, young man."

He wouldn't dare to argue with that.


	8. Crumbles to the Sea

She only met his eyes for an instant before he was gone. The door banged shut behind him, and she stared at it for a moment, a part of her hoping he would return, but eventually, she had to look back towards her family, the great majority of whom looked as though they wished they could escape this situation. The one exception, her mother, broke the silence. "Come along now, Annie. We don't want the pie to get cold."

Annie's eyes filled up with tears as she looked down at the dish. "I… I –"

"We all knew that Mr. O'Daire was not going to be worth your time. There's no use in dwelling on it. Hurry along now, child, we've waited long enough."

She was worried she would break the dish, but Annie only clenched tighter as she struggled to stay silent. Georgia glanced between her mother and sister, and everyone waited nervously to see who would crack first. Annie had always been a weakling, and she had no faith that she could ever be anything else. She set the dish before her mother and sat back in her spot, careful to not make eye contact with any member of her family. "Well, then, now that that little piece of excitement is over, would you care for a slice, Georgia?"

Her sister looked to Annie as though asking for permission before nodding. Only the clink of their best china against the wooden tabletop interrupted their dessert. Her shoulders shook as a slice was placed in front of her, but at her mother's repeated request, she forced herself to eat a bite. Though she remembered measuring the cup and a half of sugar and sprinkling it over the berries, the taste was sour. She could not bear another bite.

* * *

She had managed to spend one night at the Fox and Face without seeing him; perhaps she could last another. Maybe, if she was very fortunate, she would never see him again, would never have to face the fact that she had done nothing when he needed her.

Those moments just before she fell asleep, when Annie had to face the truths she could not even admit to herself in daylight, she knew that rationale was a lie. She wanted nothing more than to see him again.

Her chance came far too soon. Friday was always a busy night at Aunt Violet's tavern, but the crowd tonight was packed into the pub so tightly Annie had to press her elbows to her sides just to squeeze through the slender, momentary gaps between the tables. Thank heavens she had finally been allowed to wash dishes for a few moments while Johanna and Cecelia looked after the clients. When she didn't have to smile to coax another couple drinks out of the patrons, she could let her mask slip. Her arms were elbow-deep in suds, and a few stray bubbles clung to her apron. She usually hummed or sang under her breath to drown out the noise from the front room, but tonight Annie was silent. She had far too much to think about.

Even in the relative silence of the Fox and Face's kitchen, she did not hear the door swing open or the pad of footsteps behind her. Annie jumped when a hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Loverboy's here," Johanna noted, elbowing Annie in the side. Of course he was here. Finnick would want to look for some solution to their impossible problem. "Hey, I said he's here." She looked up from her dishes. "Don't tell me the two of you are fighting."

Annie bit down hard on her lower lip. "Jo, you go talk to him."

"Wait, what? What's wrong with both of you?" For once, the other woman's voice revealed true concern, and it only served to further break Annie's heart.

"Jo, please. I can't. He's done nothing wrong, don't worry about that, but I just can't see him." Perhaps it wasn't fair to ask it of her friend, after all, she and Aunt Violet had facilitated their every meeting, working doubly hard to allow Annie a few minutes to sit and talk or clearing the tavern an extra half hour before close so she and Finnick could gain those few precious moments. Still, that did not make Johanna Mason privy to every piece of information about her life.

"Why not? He asked specifically to see you."

"Johanna," she snapped.

"Fine, but I've already told him you're back here. You won't see me lying for you."

She glared at the other woman. "I never asked you to."

"And there's nothing stopping him from coming back here himself." Johanna didn't bother to look back as she gathered an armful of clean dishes and swaggered into the other room.

As the door swung shut behind her, Annie tossed the dishrag into the water. It gave a satisfying plop, but otherwise all she had achieved was a giant wet splotch on her apron that was quickly seeping through to her dress. She swore under her breath and fished the rag out again, scrubbing at the dishes far more vigorously than was necessary and trying not to imagine she was scraping off Johanna's face as she worked. After all, that wouldn't be fitting for the well-bred young lady that she was supposed to be.

* * *

"I'm sorry." Her entire body went rigid. Annie closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe before turning to face him. Finnick took a step towards her, and she fought the urge to back away. "I'm really sorry for everything that happened, and I understand if you never want to see me again. Tell me to go away, and you'll see neither hide nor hair of me again, but please, before you order me away, know that I love you, and the only reason that I would wish us apart is to please you."

He was only a breath away, but she could not close that gap. "Please, Annie," he pled, and she could hear the sincerity in his voice. "I'll do anything I can to become something your family will approve of." From this distance, he looked terrible. His normally golden skin had a pale, sickly cast to it, and dark shadows lingered under his eyes. She felt a twist of guilt for his condition, but still, she said nothing.

"Please tell me what I can do." He moved another step towards her, and Annie was trapped between him and the still-full tub. She grabbed the edge of it and craned her head back to better see him as Finnick closed any distance between them. His legs went to either side of hers, and the tops of his thighs pressed against her abdomen. Finnick's gave her a sad little smile as he reached for her wrist, and though she would have thought it very romantic at any other time, Annie was mortified. If anyone were to walk in on them in this position, she would never be able to look at herself again.

She shoved him away. "I think it would be best if you left now."

"Annie, please, just let me explain."

She put up a hand to silence him. "There's no need for you to explain yourself. Finnick, you need to go now, and I'd appreciate it if you never came back."

When she was younger, Annie had read adventure stories where the hero watched as a mountain crumbled into the sea, but only now could she fully picture it. Finnick's jaw lost its tautness, and he hardly seemed to notice as he stumbled back a step. She hated what she was doing to him, but she could not stop now. "Please, Finnick."

His eyes went cold as he regained a bit of his composure. "As you wish. I hope you are very happy."

"I hope you find something better." She wondered if he hated her as much as she did as he stormed from the room, pausing for just an instant at the door to allow her another chance.

She managed to maintain her hard expression until the door banged shut behind him, but even before its echo faded, she sagged against the tub. The laughter and raucousness that funneled in from the other room hid her sobs from Johanna and Aunt Violet's ears, and for that, she could be grateful.


	9. Washed Away

“Finnick, you need to go now, and I’d appreciate it if you never came back.” She could not have hurt him more terribly had she struck him, but Annie was still not finished with him. “Please, Finnick.” Annie sounded broken and hurt herself that he wanted to comfort her, but he knew she would never allow it.

 

He felt his defenses creeping up on him, the icy ring that years of being an outsider in a strange land had given him. “As you wish. I hope you are very happy.”

 

“I hope you find something better,” Annie replied. He could almost see frost hanging in the air between them as he waited for her to rush back to him, to try to undo all the terrible things that had been said tonight, but when nothing more came, he hurried away, allowing the door to slam behind him. The noise was satisfying, but it wasn’t enough. Violet and Johanna looked at him worriedly as he hurried outside, but he hardly paid them any mind. His thoughts were too full of Annie, himself, and anger at both of them to bother with anything, or anyone, else.

 

Finnick managed to keep his rage bottled up until he got outside, but even before the door had shut behind him, he pounded his fist into the wall. "Goddamnit!" he shouted. It didn't have the cathartic effect he'd been hoping for. Instead, his hand hurt, and a few souls were looking at him askance. Still, that didn't stop him from punching the brick wall again. Naturally, it didn't budge, and neither did any of the feelings he wanted to get rid of.

 

Fuck, she would leave him after all the bars were closed, wouldn't she? Nobody in any kind of pleasant neighborhood catered to new customers at this time of night. Finnick thought for a moment. Well, he really had very little to keep him on the straight and narrow now, didn't he? This city had become his home; nobody who mattered anymore would think any different of him if he were to wander into one of New York's less reputable establishments.

 

Being over six feet tall and broad-shouldered gave one a bit of protection at this hour. Why bother the man who looked like he could crush you with his bare hands when there were far easier pickings to be had? Finnick glared at the bums who still littered the streets even in the darkest hours of the night, discouraging any attempt at conversation or request for a spare coin. He'd need those if he was to successfully drown all the thoughts swimming in his mind. He saw a few others for whom the streets had become their home as well: the children, orphaned and abandoned alike, for whom he'd always felt a bit of a bond with, and the stumbling drunks who didn't have enough sense to be inside yet. Well, he thought, neither did he, but he didn't intend on making this a common occurrence. Annie's mother will miss the sight of the drunk Irishman, he thought. What a pity.

 

He didn't look at the sign before he entered the pub. After all, it didn't much matter how he got there or how he'd get home when the ale was flowing and he had to water a broken heart. If he was lucky, maybe there would be someone who was itching for a fight just as badly as he was there. It would be nice to have someone else hurting, even if it wasn't as much as him.

 

.oOo.

 

"Finnick O'Daire, I expected better of you."

 

God, his head hurt. No, he had to amend that thought; every inch of his body was sore, his stomach ached, and his head was pounding like the devil himself was stuffed in there. He hadn't intended on finding that much trouble last night.

 

"I know you're awake. Don't you dare put this off another second."

 

Finnick cracked one eye open, and immediately the light made his headache a hundred times worse. He wasn't ready for that quite yet. "Morning, Mags. What are you doing here?" At least his voice still sounded somewhat human.

 

The woman frowned at him. Oh dear, he knew that look. He was really in trouble this time. "I think, Finnick, that a far, far, better question would be to ask what you are doing here, since, after all, I'm not sure you'd still be here on this earth with us if you'd drank another sip."

 

"I was that far gone?" Had he really been that deep into his cup? Finnick pondered that for a moment, but after he realized that he remembered very little after he'd stepped into that seedy pub in the neighborhood just north of his usual haunts. Judging by his headache, the scratches on his fists, and the bruise he could now see developing on his right arm, it probably hadn't been a series of particularly good decisions. Really, it was a shame his memory hadn't cut out a bit sooner. "Sorry, Mags."

 

"I don't think you need to apologize to me. You, boy, need to make things right with God."

 

And Annie. Finnick forced himself to sit up. He was in the cramped bedroom he shared with Patrick, which he supposed was a good sign, and, beside his current physical condition and Mags' presence, nothing seemed too far out of the ordinary. "Where's Patrick?" he asked, still a bit groggy. It had to be past time to get up; the single window was beyond filthy, but the room was still bathed in sunlight. Definitely time to be up, then. Mags would give him hell if he made her late to Mass. Well, not that she wouldn’t give him hell anyway, but -

 

Mags put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising. "No, I won't have you making a mess all over the floor from trying to get  up too fast. It's a Sunday, so you stay in bed for a while longer. Your brother's at Mass as he should be, and I stayed here to keep an eye on you." Her eyes were kinder than her words, and he allowed himself to be pushed back into his cot.

 

Finnick raised one eyebrow at her. "Why aren't I allowed up? Aren't you the one who woke me in the first place?" A second passed in perfect silence. Oh damn him, that probably hadn't been the right thing to say. He started to apologize, but he was quickly cut off.

 

"Were you not the one who came home so late and in such a state, with bruises all over your arms and unable to stand, that your brother was worried enough to fetch an old lady in the earliest hours of the morning?"

 

She could still make him feel about two inches tall when she wanted to. "Sorry about that."

 

Mags nodded. "You're not going to pass out or vomit if I let you get up, are you?"

 

"No, ma'am."

 

"Very good. Now, you go wash yourself up and drink some water. I want to hear all about what caused you to worry me almost to death, and if there isn't a good reason behind that, I look forward to hearing the story you make up."

 

Mags excused herself to the main room so he could hurry through his morning routine. The water in the pitcher was lukewarm, but it still felt good when he splashed it against his face. A part of him wanted to put off telling her the whole story. Once the words came out, he had to accept that all of it was real, when it would be so much easier to pretend none of it had ever happened, that he could still hold onto that naïve dream that he could be Annie's and Annie could be his.

 

But one must wake from even the sweetest dreams. He pushed back the curtain that separated the sleeping area from the rest of their small apartment. "You're looking better already," Mags said as he stepped outside.

 

"Then I'd hate to know what I looked like earlier."

 

She chuckled and motioned for him to sit on the chair next to hers. Her wordless message came through crystal-clear: time to stop evading the topic.  Finnick took a moment to get himself settled, thinking about how he should approach this. "Honesty's always the easiest way, boy. I thought you'd know that by now."

 

"Yes, ma'am." Finnick took a deep breath to settle himself, and then he started his tale. With Mags, he felt that he could include any detail without fear that she would care for him any less, so he told hr anything that he thought would matter. How he and Annie had met, the supper at the Crestas' home, how heartbroken he'd been the night before when she'd  banished him away. Eventually, he found himself staring down at his hands as he spoke, curling into himself in defeat.

 

Mags' eyes had drifted shut as he recounted the last few weeks' events, and at one point, he as certain she had fallen asleep on him, but Finnick should not have been surprised when she waited only a second or two after he'd finished to remark on what he'd said. "So, boy, what are you going to do about this?"

 

"I'm not sure yet. I haven't had much time to think on it." Had it all really been only last night? It felt like weeks, but the pain was still fresh. "I might try to -"

 

"No, you won't." The woman sat up straight now, and her eyes were on him. She looked as intense as he had ever seen her. Finnick waited for her to clarify. "You promised her that if she wanted you to stay away from her, you would. I didn't raise you to go about breaking promises."

 

He hadn't considered that. Finnick wanted to argue, but he knew it wouldn't help. "You're taking credit for me now, eh?"

 

She shook her head and leaned back into her chair. "Only for the good portions."

 

Finnick had to smile at that one. He started to look away, searching for something to say, but Mags reached over to gently pat his cheek. "Don't you worry, Finnick. If God means for you to find love, it will happen."

 

"And what if He doesn't?"

 

"Then it's best not to question it, love. We all end up where we're meant to be." She pulled him into her arms, resting his head on her shoulder, and he felt as though he was eleven years old again, safe because Mags would come in between him and the rest of the world. "Of course, we can't know the Lord's intentions, but I have a feeling that you'll learn to be very happy in love." She stroked his hair, and Finnick wanted nothing more than to believe everything she said was true.

 

.oOo.

 

He had to force himself to breathe. Finnick felt the same terrible stillness that had come over him when he first learned of his parents’ and sister’s deaths, but this time, there was nobody to blame but himself. He shouldn't be here, but this place had been calling to him for days. How could he have ever thought he could belong with someone from this place? The buildings in the Crestas’ neighborhood were all neatly maintained, and the front entrances of the shops on their first levels were just as inviting as the flowers in the window baskets of the upper stories. Though the clothes of the people who bustled past him were all fairly plain, they revealed a comfort and wealth that he could never aspire to. Everything here seemed to shine as though covered in a thin layer of golden dust. No, a poor Irishman would never suit anyone who lived here. He'd been a fool to think it.

 

He should leave now; he had no purpose in being here. Still, he found himself glued to the spot. With his boots covered in blood and tiny pieces of fish from the boat and stinking of sweat and the sea, even a casual observer could hardly mistake him for someone who belonged here, and he'd already received a few glares, but he could not force himself to move away.

 

It must have been ten minutes since he arrived, but the building across the way still held his rapt attention. The curtains were drawn in the front window of the Crestas' rooms, but it was so simple to imagine what went on behind them. A piece of him hoped Annie would come to the window, or better, that she had already spotted him and was only stopped from coming out by her mother's presence. He held onto that daydream for a  long moment before letting it slip away. He had to leave before he attracted too much attention. Finnick tore himself away from his spot and began to walk away.

 

One glance over his shoulder was all it took to destroy his resolve. Finnick knew better, but it was as if an unseen hand was forcing him off his intended course. He grabbed the knocker on their front door, lifted it up, and paused. No, he couldn't do this. He'd promised to stay away, and no woman had any use for a man that couldn't keep his word. Slowly, with one last look up at the window, he allowed himself to be swept up by the crowd's currents, let them drag him far away from her.


	10. Lost in the Crowd

_September 1859_

She made it through the first night without crying. The second, she could feel her defenses crumbling, but she managed to hold fast. By the third, all she can do is be quiet enough to not wake Georgia. Every night thereon went largely the same. Her shoulders would shake, and her pillow would be damp with tears by the time she managed to coax herself asleep, but nobody else discovered her.

That is, until her first Monday night at the Fox and Face without Finnick in what felt like years. The entire night was hard, but she managed to keep herself in one piece until all the patrons had staggered out. Violet had already sent Johanna and Cecelia home when she found Annie in the back room with a pile of dirty dishes still left to wash, her knees pulled up to her chest and crying. "Oh, dear." Violet came to sit down next to Annie. "Why are we crying?"

"I feel terrible, and I know that I have no right to," she said as she wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. She didn't care that it was far from an attractive gesture or that her nose had begun to drip along with her tears.

Aunt Violet gathered Annie up in her arms and brought the young woman down so that her head was rested against her aunt's chest. "And why is that, dear?"

"I'm the one who told him to leave me alone, to never speak to me again. He apologized to me, and I treated him terribly."

"I'm certain it was not as bad as you make it out to be."

"But it was! I stood there and told him that I never wanted to see him again, and he looked so broken, like a little boy, but I couldn't back down. I told him again, and still he didn't argue or scream, he just told me that he loved me and that the only reason he would ever leave me be is me asking for it." She was acting like a child, crying over an opportunity she herself had spoiled, but Annie could not bring herself to act like the grown woman she was. It was so much easier to play the child and hope that the adults around her would tidy the mess she had made.

Aunt Violet, though, had never been terribly tolerant of messy children. "If you keep allowing yourself to be miserable over this, you'll never stop," she said.

Annie looked up at her, her eyes questioning. "If you wallow in your misery and self-pity forever, you will never be able to see the good things around you. You had a life before Finnick, and none of that has ended. If you have decided that you are never going to see him again, and you are the one who needs to decide this, you have to go back to your life before him and live it."

"And what if I do want to see him again?" It should not have been her response, Annie knew that, but still, the words popped from her, unbidden. She did not realize just how true they were until she had already spoken.

Violet sighed and leaned back into her seat. "Well, then, dear, I think you might have burned all your bridges."

She should have expected that response, but that didn't make it hurt any less. "You think he'll never want to see me again."

"Would you blame him if he didn't?" Violet left a pause for her to respond, but Annie could think of no retort. She wasn't sure that one existed. One simply didn't trivialize months of courting, the possibility of a future together, all dashed to nothingness by a promise to never see each other again. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again, but Annie fought to keep them back. She would find no pity here, and she knew she wouldn't' have deserved it even if it were offered. "You told him to stay away, and for the last week, that's exactly what he's done, even though I'm sure it's killing him to do so. You picked yourself a good one there. I can see that, your father and sister see that, and deep down, I think your mother can as well."

"But we can't be together. She won't allow it." No matter what Violet said, she could not cure the root of Annie's problem. She was not a fairy godmother with a wand that could make her mother's worries disappear with little more than a wave and a poof of light. Annie had to smile at the thought. Yes, more than ever, she could use such a fairy godmother. Surely, she couldn't make things worse. Eventually, Annie realized that Violet had fallen silent for far too long. She forced herself to sit up straight, ladylike, and look towards her aunt. "Are you all right?" she asked.

The woman gave her a distracted nod, and then something changed in her face. She took a long, steadying breath before she turned herself ever so slightly towards Annie. "Let me tell you a story not so different from your own," she began. "Remember, as hard as it may be to imagine a fat old lady like myself ever having a suitor, that I was once twenty and beautiful, just as you are now."

"I don't find that hard to believe at all," Annie defended herself.

Violet waved off her concern. "Of course you don't. You're too much of a dear to ever admit to such a thing. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I had a suitor once. I thought we suited each other quite well – he was handsome and as smart as they came. I was sure it was love."

"Was it?" Annie asked. She had never heard of Aunt Violet ever having a suitor, though she supposed she shouldn't be so surprised. Her mother was unlikely to mention anything of the sort, and Violet seemed to think it a painful memory best left alone except as a learning exercise for her niece. It was strange, thinking of Violet as being like her, and though of course she knew that her aunt had once been a young woman, it was hard to picture her as anything less than the force of nature she had become.

Violet thought for a moment before replying. "I think it could have been, though I'll never know, of course. We weren't in love yet, but I think it could have grown into something more. My parents, though, did not want to see that happen. His family had ties to some less than savory members of the criminal class, and they wouldn't see their daughter marrying into that sort of family. I knew better, that Haymitch would never do such a thing, but I could see some of the wisdom in their decision."

Annie wanted to let her aunt continue talking, but she couldn't let the moment pass without a few questions. "You did what I did?"

She nodded. "Yes, almost exactly. I told him that we had to be finished, that he was no longer a welcome visitor in the Jenkins household, but he had a far worse reaction than the one you described from Finnick. He accused me of never having loved him, of only toying with him while I searched for someone better, someone who could lift me further up the social ladder or provide me with a more comfortable life, and I screamed back at him. Neither of us could approach the situation as adults, and I told him at the end that I never wanted to see him again, that if he came to my door again, I would not stop Father from grabbing his gun or Grandpa's old sword from the war and giving him a quick slice or two." Violet shook her head at the memory. "Oh, that man. He never seemed to learn when to stop. Hasn't helped him any in the years since, either."

A thought tickled at the back of her mind. "Haymitch? Haymitch Abernathy, the one who's always here?"

"Now you realize the depth of my naiveté," Violet said, nodding.

Haymitch Abernathy, the dark-haired drunk who came in every night a few minutes after open and stayed until Violet forced him out. The man who could drink even Brutus under the table and who, she had heard straight from his mouth, had never met a glass of whiskey he didn't like. Annie wasn't sure that there was ever a moment the man was truly sober. She let out a shaky laugh. "Well, he didn't do a very good job of staying away, now did he?"

"No, he didn't." Violet rubbed at her left eye with the back of her hand, and Annie suspected that the motion was more inspired by the very beginnings of tears rather than a sudden itch. "I think he planned to, though, for I didn't see him for years after that. Then, one day, without any warning whatsoever, this drunk stumbles in after his credit ran out at his old favorite haunt, and he happened to know my name."

"You didn't recognize him right away?" she asked, surprised.

"I hadn't been expecting him and had no idea what he'd been through those last few years. I think it had been, well," she could almost see Aunt Violet ticking through the years in her mind "eight years, maybe more like nine? I don't think either of us was planning on ever seeing the other again, but after so long, we could be comfortable in the same room again."

"You couldn't before?"

"Not in the same way. All those feelings that I'd felt as a younger woman could finally be pushed aside. I knew now that no matter how wrong my parents' decision had felt when I was twenty, it had been the right one. I don't mind a bit of drink, as you must know, after all I wouldn't have lasted long here without being rather tolerant, but I couldn't go through life married to a drunk. For me, it was the right decision."

Aunt Violet sounded so sure of herself, of the choice she had made, but Annie could not bring herself to believe that this was right, that her situation would be so similar. "I don't think Finnick will turn into a drunk."

The other woman laughed. "I had no intention of suggesting that. I was merely trying to get you to think of things a bit more deeply than most girls your age would, more deeply than I had."

"Mother says a woman's life is incomplete without a husband and children." There they were, the very words that Annie had been raised on. Whenever she thought about them, her future seemed so very simple. It was like the equations her teacher had put on the chalkboard during arithmetic lessons. If one started with a woman, then added a husband and a child, they would receive a far happier woman; it was simply how the world worked. Aunt Violet, however, had always challenged that simple formula. If anything, her mother's sister seemed more carefree, more open, more loving, and dare Annie put it to words, more happy that Martha Cresta could ever hope to be.

"Now, Annette, I'd always thought you smarter than that. Do you really believe that my sister, bless her heart, has any idea what makes people happy?" Oh dear, she couldn't stop herself from laughing. It was terrible, she knew that, but Aunt Violet so rarely actually came out and said anything against her too-serious older sister, and Annie had too many pent-up emotions for anything else to happen. She was coughing on her own laughter, and Violet only shook her head nad stood up. "You, child, are going to be the death of me. If you breathe a word of this to Martha, you know I'll have your head for it."

Annie knew it wasn't that funny, but she couldn't stop herself from laughing for long enough to respond.

* * *

_October 1859_

Later that night, Violet had suggested that she give herself one month of learning to live without Finnick, and Annie had agreed. The words she had used against him were powerful, and they could not be taken back lightly. She needed at least to try to go back to her old life before she dared to contact him again. She expected it to be hard, but Annie had not realized the depth to which Finnick had touched every aspect of her life. Her chores seemed ever longer, more menial, without the thought of seeing him that night or the next to cheer her along. Those tallies in her stolen ledger sheet no longer added up, and for now, they seemed like little more than reminders that her life was passing without a purpose. He shouldn't be her purpose, like Aunt Violet said, there was far more to live for than just a man, but she saw no other reason, so she made them up for herself. She got up every morning for the flowers that her mother grew in their window boxes and went to bed every night for the starlight that filtered in through her blinds. Georgia's teasing and the taste of bread with butter at dinnertime got her through the daytime hours. For the first time since that fateful conversation with Finnick, she could be truly happy.

Still, something was missing, and those last few days of the month, she would find herself counting the hours, minutes even, until she could see him again. She allowed herself to consider the possibility that he might not want to see her, that his feelings might still be so hurt by her betrayal that he wouldn't even want to set eyes on her, but in her heart of hearts, Annie believed that he would be as relieved as she to be reunited.

The fourteenth of the month passed without catastrophe, and her wait was over. After waiting so long, she had half-expected that something would go wrong, but to everyone else, this date held no real significance. Finally, she could set the last step of her plan into action. Just as she would any other Thursday, she said goodbye to her mother and said she would be home early the next morning. She hadn't discussed this with Aunt Violet, and the other woman had no idea that she had said that she was going to be working at the Fox and Face that night, but with any luck, she would not mind too much when Annie showed up at her house and asked to stay the night. Annie knew there was no way she would escape her mother's grip tonight.

She left a bit early – after all, she wasn't headed to the Fox and Face, and if she remembered Finnick's schedule correctly, he should still be out on the boats, but not for long. She couldn't risk missing him, even if it did make her mother wonder why she was in such a hurry to go to work.

Annie kept her head held high as she walked through New York's crowded streets. It wouldn't do to look like she had no purpose or real understanding of where she was going, for that would only serve as a sign for the less savory types that a big city attracted to come pay her some unwanted attentions. The docks were far from the safest place for a woman alone.

Nobody bothered her as she pushed her way through the crowds that cluttered the streets. A man in her way there, a woman holding two screaming infants there, none of them mattered right now. She could not help but awe at the cacophony of sights and sounds and smells around her. One would think that after a lifetime of experiencing everything that New York had to offer, she would be accustomed to strangeness, but Annie still found herself drinking up everything new. She could appreciate Finnick's understanding of the world's new wonders as potentially dangerous, threats to be considered rather than moments to be savored, but it was not a view she could ever take to heart for herself. The old Chinese men who argued in a language she couldn't understand over the fish before them fascinated her, as did the bared chests of the young men who carried the catch from the boats to the merchants' carts to be taken away for sale. She stayed and watched both of them for a long moment, trying to decide where to go next. Annie knew what her next step had to be finding Finnick, but where to start? She supposed there was no easier way than to ask. It took her a few moments to find someone with few enough tattoos and enough teeth to be deemed nonthreatening. "Excuse me," she began, and the old, weathered man with his white hair pulled back in a bun at the back of his head looked up at her as though she was the curious one here. Well, Annie thought, judging by the other characters that frequented these docks, perhaps she was. She brushed the thought aside. "Excuse me, do you know where the Syrena is docked?"

He stared at her for a moment before he muttered something unintelligible and turned away. "No, please help me. I have a friend who I really must see on that ship. Do you know where I might find it?" She couldn't stop a hint of desperation from creeping into her voice. It had been so long since she had last seen Finnick, and she thought about him all the time, and she was so close to seeing him again, and –

"Ching here don't speak English, girl. You'd have better luck with me." Lecherous, absolutely lecherous, was the only way she could describe the grin this man gave her. Annie backed away when he reached for her hand. "Come on, darling, don't you want to find your friend?" Again, he moved towards her, and she took another step back. Heaven help her if she slipped on a pile of chum or anything of the sort, but she would not let that man touch her. Then, she remembered what her aunt had told her so many times before about living in the city: as long as you look confident, very few people will try to take advantage. After all, everybody who looked like they had anything more than the faintest grasp on what was happening was likely only pretending.

She squared her shoulders and raised herself up to her not-terribly-impressive full height. "Excuse me, I think I see him over there. I suggest you go off. I don't imagine he'll appreciate seeing you around me, and I would guess that he outweighs you by at least a good forty pounds." Most of that was even true – this fellow couldn't take Finnick on the best of days. Of course, that didn't mean that Finnick was actually anywhere nearby or that the man would take the hint and get lost. She could not be done yet. She added just a hint of concern to her voice. "Please, do get out of here. I don't want him to get angry and get himself in trouble."

Aid came from an unexpected source in the form of poor Ching. He babbled something at the man and raised his eyebrows in a way that was almost comical. Annie had to stop a giggle as the man paled and didn't even look over his shoulder before he scampered away, blending into the crowd as quickly as he had emerged. "Thank you," she said to Ching, smiling.

He smiled back at her and came out from behind his stall. He couldn't have been more than an inch or two taller than her, and he moved with a stiffness to his joints that suggested arthritis or some other malady of the elderly, so she doubted that he offered any real protection against any dangers she might come across, but just that she was with someone else who seemed safe made her feel far more certain about her choices this afternoon. The docks were indeed no place for a woman alone. That much, she would have to remember for the future. Though, if everything went according to plan, she would never have to come down here again. Finnick would be coming back for her, just as anxious and eager as he had been for those beautiful weeks before she had gone and wrecked everything. She forced herself not to think of that. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on what could still very well go wrong. Ching, luckily, seemed to have some idea of where he was going, though considering that Annie still had not heard him speak a word of English, she didn't know how comforting that should or shouldn't be. Still, she followed him. After all, she had nothing else better to do.

It seemed that the old man did indeed have a very good idea of where he was going and what he needed to accomplish, for he led Annie to a younger man that looked like he could someday grow into Mr. Ching. He garbled something to the man, who must be his son, and the man looked towards Annie. "My father tells me you're looking for someone. Can I help you find him?"

Thank heavens. She had started to worry that she would never find Finnick, that she would be trapped on these God-forsaken docks forever as she struggled to find some way back to civilization. "Yes, thank you. My friend's name is Finnick O'Daire, and he works on the  _Syrena_ , one of the fishing boats. I would very much appreciate it if you could at least point me in the right direction."

He nodded at her and said something to his father, and before she knew it, Annie was being pulled along again. "You know Finnick?" she asked, forgetting yet again that he didn't speak English.

She gazed at each and every one of the boats they passed by on their way, marveling at their size and the odd majesty they had about them. Annie had always enjoyed those rare days when her father would take her out to look out over the harbor and see the yachts and rowboats that glided through the waters that surrounded the island. No matter how coated they were with grime or how strongly they reeked of fish, she still admired them. Ching, however, kept her moving through the crowd of jostling men. Annie realized that she ought to be looking for one very specific head of bronze hair.

Eventually, she saw the word  _Syrena_  etched into the side of one of the boats, and Ching let go of her hand. "Thank you so much," she said. "I don't know what I would have done without –" A very familiar-looking back and head of bronze hair stole her attention from her thanks. She didn't realize she was running until her scream of "Finnick!" came out more winded than it really ever should have. This wasn't appropriate, wasn't dignified, wasn't anything she had been taught that a young lady should be, but still, there she was, hitching her skirts up just an inch or two so she wouldn't trip over them as she sprinted towards the man she had ordered to stay away from her forever. Her heart sang a little happy song when a smile broke out across his features and she saw his lips form her name, and then she was on top of him, knocking him back a step as she flung herself into his arms. Annie had never kissed man before, at least not on the lips, but she was nestled in his arms now, and it only seemed right to use the added height that she had from being cradled in his arms to kiss him. She wasn't sure if there was any technique that went into this, and certainly if there was, hers would be a disappointment, but his lips were firm and soft and just ever so lovely that she never wanted to break apart from him.

Still, all moments, especially the best, must come to an end, and he eventually moved his lips away from hers and moved to meet her eyes, still not dropping her back to the ground. "You came back."

This was what she had been dreading. Annie searched his eyes for any hint of whether he was relieved or angry, but she could find no clues there. "Yes," she admitted. Here, honesty would be essential. "I realized that I couldn't bear to be away from you for so long."

A slight smile peeked through his features. "Forever is a very long time." He slowly lowered her back to the ground, but he kept hold of her hand. She never wanted for him to let go.

"Finnick, I decided that I don't care what my mother and father think of us. I just want to be with you." She paused for a moment to collect herself, then stared straight into his eyes. "I hope you can forgive me for what I did to you. I was wrong, and I wish I could take it back, but I know I can't. I don't know how we can be together, but it's all I want."


	11. Searching for Land

He realized that the missile hurtling towards him was Annie only seconds before they collided. Finnick stumbled back a step, and he worried for an instant that they would both be sent careening off the edge of the docks and into the water, but then her lips were on his, and any semblance of conscious thought was lost.

Her hair, as ever, had largely come undone, and he twisted a song strand of it between his fingers as their mouths moved together. Finnick could feel the warmth of her body through her clothes, and his fingers splayed across her back to soak in more of the sensation. After weeks of separation, this closeness was paradise.

But like all good things, the kiss had to end. Finnick had not realized that he had been holding Annie above the ground until it was time to set her back down. Though the noise of the docks never faded, and the constant jostle of bodies did not slow, at that moment, it was as though the rest of the city had ceased to exist, leaving just him and Annie in a world to themselves. Her cheeks were tinged pink – embarrassment over her very public display, he was certain. Her hand withdrew from where it had been resting on his forearm, but he snatched it back, for he couldn't bear to lose even that small physical connection. She flinched at the gesture, and for the first time, Finnick noticed the worry in her eyes. Fighting the feeling that if he let go, she would be gone for good, he released his grip on her wrist.

Annie bit down on her lower lip and glanced off to the side. He watched her face for any clue to her purpose in coming here. Finnick wanted nothing more than to wipe away the tears he could see developing in the corners of her eyes, but he stopped himself. Finally, she swallowed and looked up to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Sorry for not being what her family wanted for her, sorry for wasting her time when she could have been seeing more suitable men…

She put a soft hand on his chest, which jolted him back to reality. "You don't need to be. I never should have judged you based on my parents' reactions."

"And I should have been more accepting when you told me we couldn't see each other any longer. There's no excuse for my actions. I'm sorry."

Annie shook her head. "I would have angry as well, were our roles reversed." At last, his stomach was starting to unclench, and the conversation was beginning to feel natural now, the way it always had before. Easy to open yourself up, that's how Mam had said love felt when he'd once asked her. "Finnick?" She sounded scared, hesitant, the way he never wanted her to be around him.

"Yes?"

"I'd really like to see you again. I don't know how there can be a future for us, I'm not sure it's even possible, but even if it's not, just going back to what we had is enough."

"That's what I want as well." And a thousand times more, but life should have taught him not to wish for the impossible by now. "We can be just as we were before."

"That sounds wonderful." Annie broke eye contact and studied the crowd. Finnick followed her gaze and tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that went through him when her eyes followed one well-muscled, bare-chested man for a moment too long. At least he could pretend her interest was in the dragon tattoos that traces his arms and across his back. But there were others as well: the little old woman who sold meat pies for a penny, the redheaded twin sailors who could pass for mirror images of one another, the cart-driver who never stopped talking to his donkey as it pulled along their load. People who he saw every day but were entirely new to Annie. She looked back towards him and smiled. "It's beautiful here."

His first instinct was to disagree. The docks were a haven for filth. Hundreds of ships from dozens of countries unloaded thousands of people, and they packed themselves together until one could hardly tell whose blood and sweat was whose. Tons of fish, straight from the ocean but already beginning to stink, made it no more pleasant. No, for him, at least, the docks were as far from beautiful as one could get.

But standing here with Annie, Finnick could remember how he had once seen this place, before the years had jaded his view of it. These docks had been his first glimpse of America, and he could still remember finally getting off that filthy ship, clutching Mags' hand tightly as they went down the gangplank together. He'd claimed, back then, that it was so she wouldn't have to worry about falling over. The sights, the sounds, even the smells were so different from back home that fascination had quickly eclipsed his initial fears. "I suppose it is."

The sun was just starting to set over the city, darkening the ocean to a deep violet. Night crept in earlier and earlier every day this time of year, and with it, any respectability that day brought was lost. He supposed he should be grateful that it was not yet winter, when Annie would have to have been home far earlier. "I'll walk you home," he offered, holding out his arm for her to take.

She shook her head. "I told my parents that I was working at Aunt Violet's tonight. They won't expect me back until morning." Still, she looped her arm through his.

"Where are you going to stay tonight, then?"

"Aunt Violet won't care where I've been. I'm certain she'll let me stay the night." Annie glanced around once more. "But, since we've no place to be anytime soon, I don't suppose I could convince you to show me around, could I?"

"Miss Cresta, I imagine there are very few things you couldn't convince me to do for you."

* * *

"You were out late." He must be really late if Patrick had noticed. When he was worried, he looked just like Mam. Patrick those same brown eyes, that same wrinkle in the forehead. And he could make Finnick feel every bit as guilty as their mother once had. Really, all of his siblings could.

"Miss me?" How long had it been? It hadn't seemed like long at all with Annie's arm looped through his, but he could not remember now how long ago the sun had set, and they could not have explored so much of the city had it not been several hours.

Patrick snorted. "Enjoyed myself the peace is more like it."

"Are you sure about that?" Finnick asked. "It must be pretty sad to be forced to go without my company for so long." He left his boots next to the door and padded into the room in his socks.

"Oh, it was torture."

This smile always managed to annoy his older brother, so, of course, it was perfect for the situation. "I'm certain."

"Where have you been?" Patrick was certainly trying to sound curious, but Finnick could see that this was far from a casual question, and not answering wasn't an option.

"I'm not fourteen anymore. You don't need to worry about what I've been up to." Even to his own ears, his reply sounded defensive, childish. Finnick wanted to take it back, but he knew Patrick would not allow that to go unnoted. Fair enough; what was done was done, that's what Dad had always said. Personally, Finnick had always preferred his mother's version: you can't rub away words like drawings in the dirt.

"No need for that. Just curious is all." And now far more curious, by the sound of it.

"I saw a friend at the docks and we wandered together for a while."

"Are you still messed up about that girl?" One could always trust Patrick to get to the real matter at hand eventually. Damn him.

"I'm not messed up at all about her. Saw her tonight, actually. Had a lovely time." He wasn't really hungry, but food seemed like an excellent excuse to avoid eye contact with his brother, so Finnick walked over to the pot of soup that they always kept simmering over the fireplace. Peering inside, he realized it was so empty that it could have been licked clean. Funny how that managed to make him more hungry. He glared at Patrick, who had been watching his every movement.

His brother chose not to respond, which, Finnick had to admit, would have been his choice as well under similar circumstances. "So you've been seeing her again?"

"A little." Why was he bothering to answer these questions? Patrick certainly wasn't as forthcoming with information on his love life. Finnick still hadn't managed to wrangle out an admission from him that he was involved with someone, but those late evenings had to be due to something beyond their little family.

"Is she going to treat you better this time 'round? Not decide you aren't good enough for her again?"

"Her family didn't approve. It wasn't her."

"I didn't see her sticking up for you in front of 'em."

"And how do you know she didn't? Best I can remember, you weren't there." True enough, she hadn't, at least not really, but for Annie, Finnick could find a book's worth of excuses. He would have to think for a long while before pursuing a relationship with someone his family disapproved of as well.

"Because people like them don't like us, Finnick. They'd prefer that we hadn't come here, had stayed back in Ireland to starve instead of  _taking their opportunities_ by working in the factories where they don't want to. They're too blind to see that we don't want to be 'ere any more than they want us 'ere." His face grew redder and his voice grew louder as his rant continued, and Finnick worried that they'd have angry knocks from the neighbors in just a moment if he didn't quiet down. As much as any of the other tenants would likely agree with the points he'd just made, there did come a time of night when it was best to keep one's voice down.

He nodded, not wanting to provoke an argument that was sure to get loud.

Patrick seemed to take the cue, and he lowered his voice. "You're going to let her hurt you again." A statement, not a question. Pity that even his family thought the outcome so certain.

"It's a definite possibility."

"You know how much I wish I could order you about and make you stop being stupid?"

"You could still try, I suppose, but I don't think you'd be very successful. Your window for that stopped around the time I got taller than you."

"Then I might as well leave you to be run ragged chasing after some American girl who'll never stay interested for long when there are plenty of nice Irish girls who'd be happy to 'ave you."

Finnick nodded. "I was wondering when you'd get there."

"Cheeky bastard."

* * *

"What do you think you're doing, showing your face around here?"

Finnick fought the urge to shrink back. Annie had seemed so sure that her aunt would see reason, or at least be empathetic to their situation, that he hadn't worried too terribly much about coming back to the Fox and Face. Reevaluating the situation seemed prudent. "Good evening, ma'am." It sounded like as good a way as any to start this conversation. "Annie told me a few days ago that she was working tonight and invited me to come and keep her company."

"Yes, let's talk about that." The woman pointed to a seat, and Finnick wasted no time in sitting down. The man next to him paused with his mug halfway to his lips, got a good look at Violet Jennings, and got up to find another spot. Finnick silently wished him luck – it'd be quite the task in the solid mass of bodies. Violet did not take the seat next to him, instead standing before him with her arms crossed over her chest. "Now, explain to me again what it is that you're doing here."

"Annie gave me permission to come and see her tonight, so I came. I'm happy to help with cleaning up and such if that'd be of use, and –"

The woman shook her head. "Not what I meant. Tell me why you're interested in spending more time with my niece."

"She's smart, she's pretty, she's kind –"

"And not a litany of her better qualities."

Finnick finally grasped what she was looking for. "Because I'd like to spend rather a lot more time with her."

"Say the words."

"I'd like to marry her someday." The more Finnick thought about the possibility, the more pleasant it sounded. It was all too easy to become lost in the daydream of watching Annie repeat the wedding vows after Father James, of having her there, waiting for him, after a day on the boats…

"Good to hear." Violet smiled, and Finnick wanted to pause to soak up that approval, but she would not have lasted long around this crowd if she went so easy on others. "Now, words are very nice and all, but how are you going to show that you mean them?"

"I don't follow." Surely the woman wasn't asking him to propose tonight? Annie might say yes – he hoped she would, in any case – but she'd never go through with it. Not with her family still disapproving of the match. Though he might want to ask, for it would cement what she wanted, and if he knew that she was willing to spend the rest of her life with him, he would know that she ached for him as he did for her.

Violet shook her head. "Boy, someday, you'll want to learn to keep your emotions off your face. You're far too easy to read. No, I'll have none of that here. What I want you to do is show me something that proves to me that you're interest in Annie goes beyond another notch in your bedpost." She quickly stepped back from that statement. "Not that I think you'd be getting any of that out of my Annie, she's a good girl, but you understand."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Think about it, Finnick. I don't have anything in mind, but when it's over, I want to have no doubts that you have only the purest of intentions towards my niece. Convince me of that, and you won't see me standing in the way of you two." She clapped him on the shoulder. "I think I've left you with enough to think about for the evening. Annie's in the back room. Don't distract her too much from her work, or I'll have your hide for it."

It was difficult to wait for her to move out of the way before he pushed through the crowd towards the Fox and Face's kitchen.


	12. As Time Crept Past

She didn't know if she kept a hand in his hair because she loved the texture of it between her fingers or to keep him anchored against her. Their kiss had to end eventually, she knew that, but then there would be dishes to walk and orders to take and a mother to appease. No, it was best to stay like this for as long as possible. There were too few opportunities like this one for her to shorten it unduly. The rest of the world could wait a moment or two longer.

Finnick gave into reality's pull first. He gave her two more soft kisses, one to her lips and one to her cheek, before he straightened. "How have you been?" he asked as he pushed a rogue strand of hair back behind her ear.

That they could go from a passionate embrace to the most mundane of conversations never failed to amaze her. "I've been well. I've missed you." She supposed that was how love worked, though. Certainly few of her parents' discussions centered around how much they loved each other. There was no reason to expect anything different. As long as there was love lying beneath the words, it was more than enough.

"It's only been two days."

She raised one eyebrow. "Is that to say that I am not allowed to miss you, and that you have not missed me as well?" The effect would be heightened if she could stare down at him haughtily, but considering he was a good foot taller than her, Annie didn't see that happening anytime soon.

"I wouldn't dare suggest such terrible things" he laughed. "I'm far too afraid of you, Miss Cresta."

"You ought to be." She leaned up on her tiptoes for another kiss. "Now, tell me how you've been."

He shrugged. "The usual, about. A couple of the hands have been too sick to work the last couple days, so it's been busy."

"Did you just dock?" Judging by the smell of him, he had to have. Finnick always washed off before he came down to the Fox and Face, but today, the scent of fish clung to him in a way it usually didn't. Not the most pleasant scent, but it was one she would have to get used to.

"Not too long ago, aye. Your aunt stopped me for a few minutes before I could come back here."

"Oh?" One could hope she hadn't been meddling, but that was rather what families were for. "What did she have to say to you?"

A little furrow creased his forehead. "I'd rather not go into it."

Oh dear. "Finnick? What's wrong?"

"Don't worry, love. She's wants me to show her something, and I'll take care of it." He gave her a smile she knew was meant to be reassuring, but Annie felt no better. "So, would you like some help with the dishes? Time is money."

"Don't you dare scold me after coming in here and distracting me," she said, her voice teasing.

Finnick grinned and stepped over to the washbasin. "Me, distracting? Never." He picked up a dish and started scrubbing at it, but not before dipping his hands into the – thankfully still clean – water and flicking some at her.

Annie sighed and moved to join him. "You're trouble, O'Daire."

"But you love me."

"For some reason, yes."

* * *

"You know that Mother thinks Aunt Violet barred Finnick from coming back to the pub, don't you?"

Annie looked up from her sewing, stricken. No, she couldn't do that. Aunt Violet had always seemed so accepting of their relationship, and after their recent conversation, Annie had walked away with the impression that her aunt would do what she could to keep their visits from reaching her mother's ears. How could she? Oh dear, was that what she had discussed with Finnick a couple nights ago? Annie hadn't seen him since, but that wasn't terribly unusual. The man did have to sleep once in a while if he was going to be on the boats with the dawn every morning. She struggled to stay calm. Fair enough, Mother was out, and she shouldn't be back for another hour or two at least, but that didn't ensure she wouldn't be discovered. "And when did she say this?" Annie said. She thought she did an excellent job of keeping her voice even.

Georgia wasn't fooled. "You ought to calm down. She told Mother at least two weeks ago. I assume you've seen him since then?"

She nodded. "How did you know?" True, she hadn't actively concealed the fact that she was meeting with Finnick, but Georgia wasn't there to witness it. Had she really been so conspicuous?

"You're the worst when he's about, and you're the second-worst just after he's left. Nobody else manages to turn you doe-eyed like that. It's annoying is what it is." Annie glared at her, but she wouldn't back down. It was a shame that they had both managed to inherit their mother's hardheadedness. Martha Cresta by herself was rather more than most could handle. "It is," she stressed, "and we both know it."

Annie wanted to frown at her, but then she realized the meaning behind Georgia's words. "Wait, she lied to Mother for me?" Of course she had, no other explanation made sense, but she had to make sure. Oh goodness, she wanted to jump up and down and squeal for joy. Only a thread of decorum kept her from doing just that, and that thread was fraying quickly.

Her sister shrugged. "I would assume so. Either that or she's not doing a very good job of keeping O'Daire away. Dear Lord, Annie, stop it."

"Stop what?" she said innocently. No, that strategy wasn't going to work. "How do you know?"

"Well, I have always been the smart sister," Georgia laughed. At least she'd taken half of the bait. It was really all she could have hoped for.

* * *

If Aunt Violet had not been asking Finnick to stay away from the Fox and Face, what had they talked about? A part of Annie whispered that it hadn't necessarily been about her at all, that there were a nearly infinite number of topics on which two people could converse. She featured in only a few of them. However, those few did seem the most likely to interest both Finnick and her aunt. And if Finnick didn't want to tell her about it…

"Dammit!" She dropped her embroidery onto the floor to study the damage she'd done. Her skin held the needle firmly in place, and a small pool of red had gathered around where she had pricked herself. "Good job, Annie," she muttered to herself as she unstuck it and wiped the blood off on the front of her dress. Not a terribly cleanly choice, but she saw no reason to get up for this. "You haven't managed to pull that one since you were what, nine?"

"You were never very good at your stitches. I would posit that you were closer to thirteen." Violet sat down at the table beside her. "Perhaps fourteen or fifteen. Be careful now, it's still bleeding." Annie stuck her finger in her mouth in response, but Violet pulled it out. "Come along now, you don't need to embroider and act like a child."

"I was just trying to get it to stop." Not the best way to convince her aunt that she could act like an adult, but at least it was honest.

Violet shook her head. "Just let it sit out for a moment. If a minute's rest isn't enough, I'll fetch something to bandage it. I won't have you doing that in front of the patrons."

"They shouldn't be coming for a while yet, right?" She felt terrible that she had to ask, but Annie had long ago learnt that her sense of time was approximately as good as her sense of where her needle was in relation to her finger. It wouldn't surprise her if she had managed to lose an hour or so at some point.

"Bad habits tend to rear their ugly heads at the most inconvenient times. That's why it's best not to develop them in the first place."

She squeezed her fingertip and was pleased when it did not bleed. "I think it's better. Is there anything else that needs doing before we open?" Annie mentally checked the usual list of tasks. The stew was simmering. She and Cecelia had washed and dried all the dishes. The tables and chairs had been wiped down and buffed until they gleamed. It would all be undone within half an hour of open, but that was what she was paid for, right? It wouldn't be nearly the same steady stream of income if Violet only needed to clean the place once.

"Not that I can think of at the moment, but I'm certain we'll find something along the way." A knock came at the door. "That had better be Brutus. I swear, if that man is late one more time, he's going to find himself out in the street," Violet huffed as she went to go answer it. Considering that she swore that a good three times a week, Annie thought it unlikely, but she knew better than to say anything. She would like to limit herself to one injury per day, thank you.

"O'Daire, if you ever need some time away from the boats, I think we could find some work around here for you. Lord knows you spend more time here than most of the help does." Annie grinned as she stood up and straightened her dress. "Come on in. And who do you have with you tonight?"

"Thank you, ma'am. I would like to introduce you to Margaret Donoghue, a close family friend. Mags, this is Violet Jennings, the owner of this fine establishment." She couldn't see him yet, but she already knew the expression with which Finnick delivered those words. Laying it on a little thick, wasn't he?

Oh, oh wait. Mags. Her eyes widened, and she thanked heaven that Violet was so particular about her establishment being in perfect order before any guests arrived, for she was able to fix her hair using her reflection on the table. It simply wouldn't do to meet the woman looking anything less than her best. Annie had heard plenty about the former nun who had cared for Finnick during those terrible days spent crossing the Atlantic. The woman had nursed him through illness and, though he never said so in as many words, become a second mother to him.

She had just a second to mouth a silent prayer for the best before Violet led the party into the room, smiling at Annie before she slipped away into the back.


	13. In the Endless Sunlight

"Thank ye, dear," Mags said as she sat down in the chair he had pulled out for her. Finnick had forgotten how her voice changed when she was around native-born Americans. Mags had already been an old woman when she crossed, and her words would never completely lose the music of Ireland, but he hated the way she modulated the notes around others.

But in this situation, betraying such thoughts could only lead to uncomfortableness. Mags was making an effort for Annie, and he should appreciate that no matter what form that effort took. "You're welcome," he said, and he moved over to pull out another chair for Annie before seating himself.

Once he was settled in, Finnick snuck a shy glance towards Annie. The poor girl looked terrified. Finnick had seen her current expression more than once on the fish that managed to escape the nets and flopped onto the decks of the boats. So close to the freedom the sought but without the ability to fully escape, their last bit of oxygen running out, they had always seemed so pitiful. When he was young, during one of his first days on the boat, he had tossed a few of them back to the ocean. His small act of mercy had earned him a scolding from the captain himself, and Finnick hadn't made such a mistake since. But oh how he longed to rescue Annie, to excuse himself and Mags to spare her even a moment of discomfort.

Mags' words, as they so often did, cautioned him against such a brash move. _"Think in the hour, boy, not in the moment."_ How many times had she told him that over the years? It didn't matter, now right now. They had to do this, even if the first few minutes felt less than pleasant. That, of course, did not preclude the possibility that Finnick might be able to make the situation a bit more bearable. "Mags has been a family friend since we crossed over. She was on the _Westward Angel_ with Patrick and me." He believed Annie already knew this, for Mags had featured in many of the stories he had told her about his crossing, but Finnick could think of nothing else to ease the tension he felt emanating from Annie.

"Thank you for being such a comfort to him and his brother on the way over. I can't imagine what that would have been like, two children traveling across the ocean." Finnick nodded at Annie's words. He had expressed the same sentiment many times over the years only to have it brushed away by Mags. It had been no hardship, she insisted. Old women got lonely just as easily as young boys did.

Mags smiled. "Finnick and Patrick are good lads. They would have gotten on well enough on their own."

"But all the same, it must have been a great comfort to them, knowing there was an adult they could look to."

"We do appreciate all you've done for our family, Mags," Finnick added. Even if she wouldn't accept the praise from Annie or him alone, it would be difficult to push away both sets of compliments at once. Not that he would dare doubt Mags' ability to complete difficult tasks, of course, for she surely would have finished Hercules' work in an afternoon and thought nothing of it.

"Thank you, dear," she replied, reaching over to pat his hand. Finnick could just make out the beginnings of tears in her wise blue eyes. "But let's not dwell on the past. Miss Cresta, Finnick has told me many wonderful things about you. Would you bother yourself to tell me which are true and which are the fantasies of a man besotted?"

Finnick struggled to stop his snort, and in return, he received bemused glances from both women. He was blushing all the way back to his hairline, but he could hardly allow such an affront to his honor to go unchallenged. "I assure you, even when it comes to Miss Cresta, my mental faculties are very much intact."

"We'll let Miss Cresta and I be the judge of that, dear."

Annie giggled, and he shot her the dirtiest look he could summon. Which, he realized, when it came to Annie, ended up more akin to a smile than anything truly scolding. He reached out towards her under the table and brushed her thigh. She took the hint and grabbed his hand, and squeezing it for a moment before releasing him. "I will aspire to dispel some of his more fanciful creations," Annie said, ignoring his earlier protests. Finnick shook his head and leaned back into his seat. If he was to be subjected to this, he might as well be comfortable while it happened.

"He tells me you've been working 'ere for a few years now. How did you come to work at this establishment? I understand the proprietor is your aunt, aye?" Her accent had started to peek through again, and he had to smile at its very welcome reappearance.

"Aunt Violet needed an extra set of hands while Cecelia, another one of the girls who works here, was out with her first baby, and my mother said I could work on the condition that it'd only be until Cecelia was well enough settled in that she could come back." Annie smiled sheepishly. "Well, she's back now, and she's had another couple babies in the meantime, but I'm still here."

"I imagine it'd be hard to let a good worker go once they'd started," Mags prompted.

"I'd like to think I do a good job. My aunt might disagree."

"I'm sure she doesn't," Finnick piped in. No reason to let the women have all the fun. "I've spent more than a few nights here, and you're always keeping busy."

"And you're always busy distracting me from what needs to get done."

He nodded. "That seems a fair summary." Mags shook her head, but she was smiling, and Annie no longer reminded him of a fish in any way. Finnick supposed this approached the absolute best he could have hoped for.

* * *

"You didn't 'ave to get me out of there before the roughs came in, boy. I've 'ad my fair share of experience with the less genteel sorts."

"I couldn't have you drinking all the men under the table, now could I? What sort of impression would that have given?"

He knew the strike was coming, but he hissed at the snap of her cane against the back of his legs all the same. "Shame on you, Finnick Odair. You know better than to think I'd touch that wicked stuff."

"Do I?" he teased.

"If I'd raised ye right, you would."

He smiled down at her. Only then did he realize that Mags' limp was becoming more pronounced. "Do you need to sit and rest a moment?" he asked, knowing full well that Mags would refuse to ask until she had collapsed in a pile on the street. Pride would be her downfall, he could guarantee it.

"If you need it."

Finnick shook his head, but he quickly found her a step to rest on. The greengrocer had closed his blinds, and the door was closed, signaling business hours were done for the day. Upstairs, he could just make out a handful of shadows defined by candlelight, the grocer and his family going about their evening just like thousands or millions of other families in the city. That made his red brick steps perfect, for he wouldn't have to get Mags up to let customers in and out.

Mags closed her eyes when she sat down. "You'll appreciate yer youth more when you get older, boy. Know that."

"I will." Finnick leaned against the railing. Around them, the streets were largely quiet. He spotted a group of three ladies a few years younger than Mags with bags tucked under their arms, and Finnick could hear children playing somewhere, perhaps back in one of the side alleys, but otherwise, they were alone. In a city of millions, it was less unusual of an experience than one might think.

She looked up at him and smiled. "No, you won't. You're wishing moments of it away right now."

"And how do you know what's in my head?" Finnick asked.

"I've seen you with that girl. I knew it before tonight as well, but you and Miss Cresta are both wishing every second you're apart would disappear."

He had wondered more than once or twice over the years if Mags might be a mind reader, a psychic. Now, it seemed, was to be another one of those times. "And you believe Annie feels the same?" There was no purpose in arguing when a point was so clearly true.

"Donkeys have two ears, they hear every word you say, but that doesn't mean they listen. Don't be an ass, Finnick. Think." She tapped his forehead with her cane. He should have been upset, he supposed, for the streets was far from clean, but Finnick was mostly surprised she could reach that far. "The Good Lord didn't give you this to serve as decoration."

He chuckled. "No, I suppose he didn't."

Mags never failed to surprise him. "I ought to slap you, you know."

Finnick was almost afraid to ask. "Why?" he managed.

"Don't think I didn't see your hand under the table. You keep your hands off that girl 'til yer married, you hear? There'll be plenty of time for that after the weddin'."

"I hear." Perhaps her earlier advice had been more effective than Mags had intended, for as they walked arm in arm the rest of the distance to her small, shared apartment, all Finnick could think was how Mags had spoken of when, not if, he and Annie married.

* * *

_Sunlight filtered into the room through thin, gauzy curtains. It haloed the woman before him, a vision not unlike those the prophets must have endured so many centuries prior. He approached her solemnly, as one might an altar, and he dared to touch her skin only with the lightest of pressure. Turned, with her back turned towards him, she tensed at his touch, and he wondered if she might flee, might scream and alert those who would wish them apart to his presence._

_Instead, she turned, and he saw her brilliant green eyes echoed in those of the child she held. The woman offered the small bundle to him, and he accepted it with trembling hands. He watched in amazement as the child looked up at him, and mixed with her eyes, he saw his hair, Clodagh's nose, a hint of Patrick's freckles on his cheeks._

_Finnick looked up to ask the woman where she had found this child, if it was all true, but all that remained were the curtains and the endless sunlight streaming in._


	14. With a Terrible Crash

Annie almost dropped the plate when Georgia bumped into her. Thank heavens it didn't hit the ground, for there was no chance it would have survived the fall. She had chipped one of the plain ceramic dishes a few weeks prior, and Mother had only recently given up on chastising her for it. Annie shuddered when she thought of the trouble there would be should a dish be completely ruined so soon after the last. Once her heart rate had slowed to something approaching normal, she glared at her younger sister. "And what were you hoping to accomplish with that?"

Georgia gave her a wide grin. "Oh, nothing. You would have known it was coming if you'd been listening, you know."

"How polite of you to warn me." Annie turned back to her task of scraping their dinner dishes clean. She had allowed the dishes to sit for too long after the noon meal had finished, and the remnants of the beef stew their mother and Georgia had made had congealed into tough, sticky globs on the plates. Though Annie alternated between using her fingernails and scrubbing with all her might using the rag, she wasn't having much luck cleaning the stubborn dishes. That she spent the entire time waiting for another blow did not help matters. Just as she suspected, no more than three seconds later, Georgia's elbow found the soft region between her ribs and hip bone. "Georgia!" She responded with a push of her own, sending her sister stumbling back a step or two.

She didn't really expect that to faze Georgia, and of course it didn't. "What?" she replied, her voice suffused with a false innocence that made Annie entertain some uncharacteristically violent thoughts. What did a woman have to do to get some peace around here?

"You know very well what!"

"Fine. But are you going to tell me or not? Because if I have to put up with you day in and day out, I feel like I ought to at least know what you're doing."

Annie sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, to start out with, what are you and Finnick going to do about the fact that Mother hates him?" It really ought to concern her that Georgia didn't even have to pause before coming up with that question. Though, she acknowledged, it did seem that she had been daydreaming during a rather one-sided conversation earlier. It was very possible she had already asked this question and received a less-than-satisfactory response.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully.

Annie wasn't sure she'd ever heard such an unladylike snort as the one that Georgia made at that. "What do the two of you do when you're together?" Georgia asked. "Do you bother to talk to each other, or do you just sit there and stare at him? Not that I can say I'd blame you if you did – he is rather nice to look at – but -"

"Of course we talk to one other! That particular subject just hasn't come up."

"Well, perhaps it should."

Annie lowered her dish into the basin and crossed her arms over her chest in perfect mimicry of their Aunt Violet. "And how, pray tell, am I supposed to ask that? Come right out and tell him that my parents hate him, and they'll never give their approval, but I would still rather like to see him anyway?"

Georgia thought for a moment before she shrugged. Pity, that. Though it had been intended as a rhetorical question, if Georgia happened to have something useful to say, she'd be more htan happy to hear her out. "I don't know, Annie. But if you're worried about it, perhaps Finnick is as well. It has to have crossed his mind at least, don't you think?"

She focused on the dirty dishes in front of her for a moment. The lull of the actions - scrub, scrape, rinse, repeat - all seemed so much simpler than thinking about life's real problems. Perhaps this was why kings had paid philosophers to think through life's great questions for them and advisors to run their countries. It would be far more enjoyable to go on hunts and enjoy feasts than philosophize on the state of nations. Unfortunately, Annie had no money to buy her way out of her problems. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

"But you're going to see him again?"

"Of course."

"Who is Annie going to see? And why don't Mother and Papa like him?" At the sound of their younger brother's voice, both women whirled around.

Annie's knuckles went white around her dish. Oh no, he couldn't have. He was supposed to be asleep. If he told Mother what she'd been up to... She scrambled through her mind like a madwoman, trying to find some lie, any excuse, that would explain it all away.

Georgia thought faster. "Edmund! I thought you were supposed to be sleeping."

The boy shrugged. "I woke up and heard the two of you talking," he explained. Annie wanted to snap at him, but with those big, innocent green eyes, it was hard to stay mad at him for long. He was just a child. He couldn't very well have known what harm he could have done.

"Come along, back to bed with you," said Georgia, grabbing Edmund by the hand and starting back towards the bedroom he'd emerged from. "Boys who do not go to school must get good rest, or Mother will think they were only pretending to be ill." She was right on that point. Once she had gone all the way to the apothecary to get a balm for Edmund's cough and fever, Martha Cresta would be far from forgiving should she discover he hadn't really needed it.

"I wasn't pretending! You felt my head this morning," he protested, and he shook away Georgia's hand. "I just want to know who Annie was talking to!"

"It's none of your business," Annie said. With any luck, that'd be enough for him.

But when had Fortune ever smiled upon her? "But you were talking about it while I could hear you. I want to know. Is it another man? It sounded like a man."

Oh dear, if this evolved into a guessing game, it wouldn't be long before he figured it out. Whatever else she thought of her younger brother, she had to admit that he was a very bright young man. Still, this admission was innocent enough. "Yes it's a man," she confirmed, knowing full well she was going to kick herself for this later. "All right now, back to –"

"Is it Mister Odair? I rather liked him." Gracious, she hadn't expected him to guess it so quickly.

"I, erm, I…" She stumbled for the correct words to throw him off her trail, but young boys were absolute Bassett hounds when it came to getting the truth out of those closest to them.

"It is, isn't it? I know it's him. Wait until Mother hears you're stills seeing him! She'll have a –"

Annie panicked. "Edmund, you mustn't tell her." He sobered at that, green eyes gone wide and questioning. Annie took a deep breath, letting it sit in her lungs for a long moment before releasing it.

Georgia motioned towards a chair, and Edmund sat in it, obviously half scared to death. "You aren't going to tell Mother," Georgia repeated Annie's demand. The boy nodded, but she could still see hesitation there. "What do you think will happen to you if you do?"

She shook her head. There was no reason the poor child had to be afraid of his siblings. "Edmund, who bakes the pies in this family?"

"You do," he answered, his voice timid, as though he believed Annie would snap at him if he answered incorrectly.

"That's right. And who do you think would be very happy to put a bit of filling and crust aside for a certain young man if that same young man keeps a secret for her?"

"You!"

"Well? What do you have to say to that?"

He didn't technically respond, but she could extrapolate his answer from the tightness of his hug. Annie kissed the top of his head and kept him close to her for several heartbeats.

* * *

Papa had forgotten to put out the open sign. She noticed it the instant she passed by, so used to seeing it out that its absence was impossible to miss. The windows were closed as well, the shutters closed, but that wasn't unusual for Papa. He hated how the noise from the street filtered in during the morning, and he often kept them shut all afternoon. Perhaps he hadn't opened the shop yet, for she was a bit earlier than usual, but just in case, she tried the door. The knob wouldn't budge.

Good, she would hate to think Papa had missed out on business by forgetting to put out the sign. Annie hitched up her skirts an inch or two to hurry upstairs to the Crestas' living quarters. From outside, she could smell oatmeal and bacon, surely the scent that would greet her at the gates of heaven. She rarely arrived back from Aunt Violet's early enough to get breakfast while it was still hot, making today a special treat. Her stomach growled far too loudly as she opened the door.

She froze halfway over the threshold. Papa sat at his spot at the table, watching her silently, and her mother's face echoed the same stern expression. She tasted the disappointment and disapproval hanging in the air more vividly than the bacon and oatmeal. They knew. They had to. It was practically written on the wall, and yet some endlessly optimistic part of her wanted to act as though nothing had changed. "Good morning," Annie greeted them as cheerily as she could manage.

"Annie, sit down."

She had long known better than to disobey a direct order from her father. Annie didn't bother to remove her shoes before sitting down in her usual spot. Up close, Papa looked older than he ever had. At this distance, the wrinkles around his eyes and became exaggerated into deep ravines, and she saw far more gray than brown in his hair and beard. She refused to look at Mother, for she knew she would find no pity there. Perhaps, had she been honest with her father from the start, he would have accepted it. Not condone, certainly, and he would have attempted to dissuade her from pursuing a relationship with Finnick, but just perhaps, he might in time have come to accept it.

In any case, there was no use in dwelling in lost possibilities now. They had already been spent, and now she could only move forward. She chose to break the silence before her parents could. "You know?"

Papa nodded. "Yes. Edmund told us. He was worried about you."

"I can't believe you did such a thing, Annie, and after your father forbade you!" her mother shouted. Annie could not help but flinch at the thought that the neighbors could hear them. "And to think we trusted you! I should have known better. I knew from the very beginning that nothing good would come of letting you go into that sin den of Violet's, but never in my worst nightmares did I think it would come to something like this!"

Annie was clenching her hands so tightly that the nails broke through the skin. Her shoulders shook, and she could feel tears threatening to spill, but she refused to give her mother that satisfaction. But the woman seemed determined to see Annie break. "Did you think about what you were doing to the rest of us by being with him? Do you think any nice men will want to come within a mile of Georgia after hearing about this? No, no of course they won't. Our family will be absolute anathema to anyone who might be suitable for a nice girl like her. And you? We'll have a hard time passing you off at all. Mrs. Kinsey down the way was talking up her Alec to me not a week ago yet, but once she catches wind of this, well, I can assure you she'll be doing her best to keep that boy as far away as she can!"

"Stop." It took everything she had to keep from yelling. "Stop. I understand."

"I don't think you do, young lady. I- "

"Martha, stop." She had never heard her father sound more stern, and evidently her mother hadn't either, for she stared at him for a long moment, mouth wide open. He turned to look at Annie. "You understand that we can't let you see him again. I can't let you work with your aunt any longer."

That hit her squarely in the chest, knocking the air out of her. She couldn't do this. She had driven herself half mad the last time she'd been forced to stay away from Finnick. Still, Annie nodded. Resistance would only firm his resolve.

"All right," he said. "I think you have enough to think about for now. We can discuss this in more detail later, should the need arise." He downed the rest of the coffee in front of him and stood up. "Get some food in you, Annie. It'll make you feel better." With that, he headed off downstairs to open up the shop.

A plate of food was dropped before her. It rattled against the tabletop, and now the smell, so inviting before, made Annie's stomach churn.


	15. Far From Shore

Like everything else he pulled from the ocean, the shell technically belonged to the captain. Finnick had so little to give Annie that he felt no guilt as he pocketed the silver-grey, iridescent shell. Surely Captain Bogart wouldn't mind. After all, the shell had no real value, not like the pearl Seannan had been sacked for stealing a few months ago. That had been a bad day on the ship, and one that Finnick would not soon forget.

He rubbed his thumb along the shell's smooth surface as he stepped into the Fox and Face. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting after spending all day out in the sun. When they did, he spotted Violet in the corner. "Good afternoon, Ms. Jennings."

"I'm afraid not."

"Beg pardon?" he asked.

Finally, she looked up from the table. "Annie's not going to be in tonight, love, and I don't think she'll be back."

The impact of those words was as physical as a blow to the gut. "Why?" It was all he could manage.

"Her parents have decided that working here has led Annie to poor choices and is contributing to a decline in morality." From the way she said them, with a little extra bite to every syllable, he assumed that she was quoting directly from Annie's mother.

"So instead of trying to bar me from your pub, they're keeping her away."

"It would seem that way, yes."

He sunk down into one of the chairs. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

Violet shook her head. "Wish I could help, but you know everything I do. I woke up this morning to find a letter from Martha in the post. Wouldn't even bother to tell me face to face." She had long since worked away the stain on the table, but she kept scrubbing all the same. He wondered if someday she'd manage to wear through the wood itself. When she continued, her voice was far less serious. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, boy. Lost me a good worker, you did."

Despite the circumstances, he had to smile at that. "And here I thought you were always complaining that Annie was mucking about when she should have been working."

"Only after you came around."

"I suppose I should apologize, then." He tried for mirth, but Finnick felt too sick in the very pit of his stomach to make it convincing.

"Get out of here. If you're going to be convincing and get me my niece back, you're going to get a good night's rest before."

"Before what?" he asked.

She finally looked up from the table. "Before you go and talk to her father, of course. You'll have more luck with him than my bullheaded sister. Perhaps you can get him to see reason, or at least make him understand that irrational world you and Annie seem to live in."

* * *

In their eyes, he would never be able to wash away the dirt and sweat, the inferiority, that came with hard physical labor. Were he living some other life, perhaps Finnick would have accepted such a view, tilted his cap and averted his eyes and allowed them to live their life while he toiled his away. And in that other life he might have been happy enough doing just that, knowing that Heaven was full of those who knew their place. But on this earth, good things came only to those who challenged the positions they had been born into. Was that not the reason he had come to America in the first place? Finnick might not have much, but he had his health, his family, and some degree of security. Had he stayed in Ireland, he surely wouldn't have made it this far. And so he scrubbed at his skin until it turned red and raw. When he stepped out of the tub, the remaining water was dark, murky, years and years of sweat and work washed away from the man he prayed could convince them he had some worth.

He practiced his pleas under his breath the entire way there, ignoring the looks he received from passerby. Today, they didn't matter.

Finnick had never been inside Cresta's Dry Goods before. He found it little different from the countless other shops in New York. True to its name, he couldn't spot a single item that could be considered wet, but one could find practically anything else in the cramped space. Paper ads for products as diverse as cloth and tools and sweets were tacked onto every inch of the thick columns that stood in place of walls in the large, open space. Boxes and barrels had been stacked to the ceiling all along the back wall. A low glass counter hugged the side of the store, leaving room only for a slim walkway between it and the wall.

Mr. Cresta stood behind the counter, talking with a customer. Though a bell above the door had chimed when he walked in, the man had not turned to look. Finnick was terribly aware that he could pocket anything he liked and leave without Annie's father ever noticing. It was filthy to even think about, yet more proof that he didn't belong anywhere near this part of town, this family. He ought to leave right now, before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

Finally, Daniel Cresta turned away from the older woman he had been helping. "Is there something I can help you with today?" His voice faded at the end, obviously having recognized Finnick. "One moment, please."

Finnick was left wishing he'd had the good sense to run away when he still had a chance. Perhaps if Napoleon hadn't bothered with Waterloo, he might have kept the huge swathes of Europe he'd already conquered. The young woman on the four sign stared back at him, her eyes soft and pitying, and he did not look away from her until the door shut behind the other customer. Mr. Cresta turned his open sign to closed. "You came here to talk about Annie, I suppose."

He nodded. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Cresta motioned towards two rickety wooden stools placed near the counter. "Sit down, and we'll talk."

The chair groaned beneath Finnick's weight, and for a second, he wondered if it would collapse beneath him. That would be sure to win the man's approval. Thankfully, it held up, even if it did creak and wobble seemingly with every breath he took. "I wanted to inform you but I have nothing but the most honorable intentions in regards to your daughter."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Emboldened by the other man's seeming warming to the prospect, Finnick pushed forward. "I would like very much to marry her."

"I know. I know." His brow creased as he nodded. He sighed and leaned in towards Finnick. "Look, son, you seem like a good man, and I don't want to see your heart broken."

Finnick resisted the urge to say that he would rather avoid that scenario as well. "But more than that, I don't want Annie's heart getting broken by you. I know how young love is. I know the two of you have some fantasy that once you get married, once me and her mother get out of your way, everything else will fall into place.

"Trust me, love doesn't work that way. It might be a miracle, but it's not magic. There will still be problems, and with you who you are and her who she is, I'm afraid those problems will be bigger than either of you is prepared to handle."

"I'm willing to try," Finnick said.

The smile he received in return was small and sad. "It's not going to work, son. Your people won't accept her, and I'm sure you've seen how happy our people are to have folks like you about. Mr. O'Daire, I now you've got prospects, and I pray that good things come to you, but I can't hand my Annie off to a Irishman, no matter how good of a job he has or how much she thinks she loves him."

_How much she thinks she loves him_. Those words felt like a stone dropped onto his shoulders. Finnick fumbled for words, some reply that would convince not only himself but also Mr. Cresta that he really could make Annie happy. "I, I –"

Mr. Cresta looked at him over the rims of his spectacles. His eyes were soft and gentle, so much like Annie's. "You'll be all right, don't worry about that. I'm sure you'll find yourself some nice Irish girl, someone who can be happy in the life you're living."

"I would do my best to secure Annie's happiness," he managed, but it was far too little far too late.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but no. I have discussed this matter with my wife, and we don't want the two of you seeing each other anymore. I hope you'll respect our decision." He waited for Finnick to nod, then gave him another of those tight little smiles that as much as he wanted to, Finnick couldn't quite manage to hate. "Just one piece of advice, son. I know it'll be hard, but as best you can, forget about her. It's better for the both of you."

Finnick rose more quickly than was polite. "Thank you for your time, sir." He felt dizzy, lightheaded, but he refused to let it show.

"Let me show you out."

"That's not necessary," he practically spat out, and the man took a half step back. The silent, powerful rules that governed society dictated that he should apologize, but those same rules kept him from Annie, so he didn't feel inclined to obey them. He hurried out the door and into the street. For once, the streets were still, quiet, as though the entire city had agreed to leave him alone with his emotions. He missed the noise. Silence hurt.

He looked up towards the second floor, the Crestas' home. Though Finnick imagined he could see shadows moving in the windows, nobody came close enough for him to be sure. He stood there for a moment or two, waiting, hoping Annie would spot him and come outside. Finnick could picture it now, her smiling at him from the window, making some excuse, hurrying downstairs to meet him. She would almost knock him down as she jumped into his arms, and her kisses would hold the same passion that they had down at the docks. If her parents saw them, they would be scandalized, but they could hardly refuse them once they saw the love there.

Only when he saw Mr. Cresta watching him from his shop did Finnick leave his fantasy behind. He tucked his hands into his pockets and started down the street, staring down at the stones as he walked. Dreams dashed, he had nothing to keep those words at bay, and they beat at him over and over again, like waves wearing down the rocks by the shore.

_Just forget about her. It's better for the both of you._


	16. Neither Near Nor Far

"Aunt Violet needs my help. Cecelia's going to be out with the new baby soon. She can't replace two people on such short notice." She had rehearsed the excuse what felt like a hundred times over the last two days, but her voice still shook has she delivered it.

Her mother didn't even look up from her needlework. "Then perhaps she will learn to not allow young women to disobey their parents."

"I'll tell her not to let Mister Odair come into her pub. He will respect her wishes, I promise you that."

"Just as he respected our wishes when he learned that your father and I did not want him anywhere near you?" Martha set her needlework on the table next to her to study Annie, who suddenly felt about the size of an ant. She might as well be for how little say she got in these matters.

She forced herself to stand tall. If she was to be an ant, she might as well be a relatively formidable one. "He did stay away, just as I asked him to. I am the one who went to him at the docks." Gracious, her mother looked as if she couldn't decide if she was furious or about to faint dead away. Annie certainly wasn't going to stop now, not with a reaction like that. "I went to the docks all by myself without first telling anyone where I was going and looked for him."

"Annie, how could you? You could have been murdered, or raped, or kidnapped and taken aboard one of those ships and sent to some far-off place and never heard from again!"

An excellent point, but she was not about to acknowledge it. "And then, when I found him, I threw myself at him, kissed him right in the middle of the docks where anyone could have seen us."

"You didn't," she hissed.

"And I'm sure rather a lot did. There was quite a crowd about."

By this point, her mother was just staring at her and seething, perfectly silent. Annie had never pushed her to this point before, and some sick, sadistic part of her wanted to know what happened when Martha Cresta went over the edge. Over the last two days, the family's rooms had become her personal prison. The walls bore down on her, suffocatingly close. Nobody in this area of New York could afford much space, but never before had her family's home felt smaller or more confining. Her only respite had been her daily trips outside for fresh air, but even then, Mother had never been more than a few steps away. _Close enough to snatch me back if I ever tried to make a run for it_ was all Annie could think. And she had thought about it more than once, running away to Aunt Violet's or Finnick's and never coming back. At this point, she'd hardly feel guilty.

Because she knew what it was to be pushed and prodded to the point where one wanted to scream and pull out one's own hair, she stopped herself. "But he only did so because I egged him on," Annie added, hoping it would at least somewhat mollify her mother. "If I hadn't, I believe he would have stayed away, just as he had for weeks before then."

Martha rubbed at her temples, and for the first time, Annie noticed just how gray her hair had become over these last few years. Only a few strands of brown peeked through the silver-gray, and fine lines across her forehead and around her mouth mapped years of hardships and laughter. Annie's shoulders sagged, and before she could talk herself out of it, she sat down next to Martha, close enough that their hips touched. She leaned her cheek against her mother's shoulder as she hadn't since she was a little girl.

Martha patted her hair. "Oh, Annie, what am I going to do with you?"

She closed her eyes and nuzzled in closer.

"That was a dangerous thing you did, going down to the docks. Promise me you won't do something that foolish again."

"I can't do that."

Martha sighed, but she squeezed Annie tightly. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

At that, Annie cracked a smile. "I think it's more likely to be Edmund."

Her comment was met with a most unladylike snort, and it emboldened Annie. "Please, Mother, let me go back to Aunt Violet's. She needs my help."

"I can't let you go back there."

"She's family! If we don't help her, she won't be able to keep the pub open, and she'll be out in the streets!"

Martha shrugged, and her bony shoulder dug into Annie's cheek. "And would that be so bad?"

Suddenly, the sofa felt too small for the both of them. Annie sat up, unable to process what she was hearing. "You'd let your sister starve?"

"Did I say that?" Martha frowned at her. "And here I thought I'd taught you to listen. I want her filthy pub to close, and you should as well. It's disgusting and sinful, a blight on our city. If she wasn't family, I wouldn't have any of you within a hundred yards of it. That doesn't mean that I want my younger sister out on the streets. We'd care for her and reform her, just as any good family would."

"She'd never accept your charity."

The woman shrugged. "Perhaps you're right. Then any consequences that befell her would be her own responsibility, and I would be absolved of all guilt." Annie turned and started away. "Young lady, where do you think you're going?"

"I can't listen to any more of this," Annie replied, only barely managing to keep her voice even. She would not shout. She refused to. But if Martha kept pushing, then… No, she shouldn't have to listen to this. Her mother could keep her hateful thoughts to herself, locked away where no one else had to hear them. It would be a better world if everyone did so. Annie pulled the door of her bedroom shut and collapsed against it. She could still hear her mother out in the other room, telling her to come back, and she felt the door move in its frame when Martha knocked, but she would not give her mother the satisfaction of a reply. Perhaps it was juvenile of her to block out the world, to pretend that she had gone deaf to the shouting, but that hardly mattered.

* * *

The idea solidified during her sixth day of imprisonment. She did not know how long it had existed, wandering in some half-baked mess through her mind. Annie could point to the exact moment where it went from a fantasy to a full-fledged plan. She was outside, just a few feet away from the store, but after twenty-four hours spent inside, even the air, thick with the scent of humans and horses and everything else New York had to offer, tasted of freedom. It was cold, but Annie had not bothered with a coat. She would not be allowed to stay out long enough to catch a chill, so why waste a few precious seconds of fresh air with coat, hat, and mittens?

For the first time since her parents had discovered her secret, she had been allowed outside alone. It was disgusting how liberated she felt at that one small freedom. How low had she fallen over the course of just a few days?

No laws dictated that she needed their permission to do anything. Annie was a legal adult. She ought to be able to go outside, work, see whomever she pleased, and all of it without fearing her parents' reaction. True, the law did place certain limits on young women's behavior, but none were as strict as those Mother and Father had enacted.

The solution was simple enough. The thought of an elopement had always terrified her, for it signified everything she had been brought up to look down on: disobedience, cutting off all ties with one's family, and most of all, taking perhaps the largest risk of one's life. Annie supposed that marriage was always akin to jumping out a window with no idea as to how high up one was or what lay below. But if one had a family, then there were at least people willing to try to catch you should the fall be farther than you thought.

Annie sat down on the steps of the shop and drew her knees up to her chest. It wasn't a polite way to sit, but everything stayed covered, and that was as much as she was willing to worry about appearances and social niceties right now. Cold nipped at her nose as she watched the city go by before her. Men and women and children and horses, and they were all going somewhere. Not her. She was just sitting still as the world bustled by her little world of her home and the shop.

She went in even before her allotted time was up. No use dallying her life away out here when there were plans to be finished and a very important letter to write.

* * *

Georgia had never been very good at sitting still while Annie did her hair. One would think that after seventeen, nearly eighteen, years of life, one would know how to not fidget as her hair was combed. "Stop it!" she scolded.

Georgia turned, further tangling the comb in her thick, dark hair. "Stop what?" she asked innocently, as though they didn't have this conversation nearly every day.

"Moving!" Her sister twitched again. "Georgia! I'm never going to finish if you can't stay still."

"I'm doing my best." Annie glared at her, but Georgia wouldn't back down. Living in the Cresta household would be far easier if even one of the women in there wasn't stubborn as could be. "I am trying to stay still, I'll have you know."

She started the tedious business of removing the comb from Georgia's hair without breaking any of the bristles. "I don't care if you are doing your best. I care that you are still moving."

"I don't remember you being so good about staying still yourself."

Gracious, did she never stop? Annie forced herself to stay calm and not say anything that would put her in Georgia's bad graces. After all, she did need her sister's cooperation if she was going to make this work. "Never mind," she muttered, finally removing the comb with minimal hair-pulling. She separated Georgia's hair into three roughly even sections and got started on the braid that would eventually form her bun. "You're going to the Fox and Face tonight, aren't you?"

Georgia started to nod before she thought better of it. "Yes, but I'm not allowed to go in the front. I have to wash dishes all night long." Annie couldn't see her sister's face, but it was easy enough to picture the way her nose would wrinkle at the thought.

She laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get to do a little cooking as well."

"Oh good, my two favorite things."

"It's not so bad."

"Well, you certainly seemed to enjoy your time there, even if it wasn't for the reasons we all thought."

Annie shoved her forward. "Be quiet, you."

"It's true!" Georgia protested.

"I don't care. It's not polite to bring it up." She secured the braid with a pin before coiling it at the nape of her sister's neck. Her lips pursed as she thought of how to bring up her plan. If she scared Georgia off, everything could be ruined. But when had delicacy ever taken her anywhere. "Speaking of that, would you mind delivering a letter to Aunt Violet for me? I don't have any money for postage."

Georgia twisted around to look at her. "Depends. Do I get to read this letter?"

Annie thought about that one for a moment. "I would prefer you didn't, but I don't suppose I can really stop you."

"So you can see reason. I'd always wondered about that." Georgia dissolved into peals of laughter as Annie's elbow caught her in the ribs. "Stop it!"

"Are you going to take my letter or not?"

"Yes! Just stop it!"


	17. Holding On

He did his best to stay away, truly he did, but he found himself on the paves before the Fox and Face only two days after his meeting with Daniel Cresta. Finnick told himself it was nothing more than habit, and one that would be easily broken at that, but it was raining and he longed to get out of the cold, so he stepped inside. Some part of him was surprised to see that it hadn't changed. The same long wooden tables sat in the main room, as clean and polished as they were at the beginning of every night. As always, he could hear female voices from the back room, and Violet looked harried as ever as she hurried out of the kitchen area. "If that man doesn't show up one more time, I'll – oh. What are you doing here?" she asked.

Finnick had no answer to that.

"Well, you're early, but I suppose you always are, aren't you? If you don't mind me putting you to work, we still have a few mugs left to wash."

"Of course. I'd be happy to help." He had nothing to gain by being kind to Violet Jennings, not anymore, but that made the gesture feel all the more freeing.

A few turned out to be several dozen. He supposed that shouldn't be too surprising, for the Fox and Face fit well over a hundred people. Multiply that by the three, four, and often more mugs that each individual would go through in a night, one would end up with rather a lot of cleaning to do before the next night could begin. He nodded towards Johanna, already hard at work, rolled up his sleeves, and dunked the first of the many, many mugs into the soapy water.

* * *

"Don't think you're going to walk out on me without paying first."

From his position at the washbasin, Finnick couldn't make out the man's reply, but he had overheard enough of these conversations to know approximately what it would be. They all made some excuse, often that it had been a mistake, and he hadn't remembered to take the money out of his pocket, or he thought his friend had paid for both of their drinks earlier. Then Violet or Johanna, with Brutus behind them on those occasions that he chose to show up, would threaten to get the police involved, and the man would invariably find the money before being sent on his way.

After nearly two hours standing in the same position, doing his best to keep up with the steady stream of dirty mugs and failing all the same, he felt he deserved a few minutes to himself. And what better way to spend them than watching Violet rip into some cheap bastard that had tried to cheat her? He toweled off his hands on a rag and headed for the main room.

By the time he arrived, the argument had evolved into a shouting match. Violet gestured wildly as she hurled insults at the man, and several in the crowd had edged away from her in order to not be struck by a stray hand or elbow. Were he on the receiving end of such a tirade, Finnick would have crawled away from the scene like a scorned puppy, but this man seemed determined to give as good as he got. His cheeks were red, though from drink or anger Finnick knew not, and the mugs as he slammed his fist down onto the tabletop. "I won't have you treating me like a thief!" he shouted, his words slurred. He would definitely be

"This is my place, and I make the rules. If I call you a thief, it's because you're trying to make off with my money, and I won't tolerate that under this roof."

The man, late in his thirties, thinning blond hair, and a good hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, took a threatening step towards her. "I'm not a thief!" Finnick grabbed his arm, stopping him before he could hit Violet, but he took a punch below the eye for his trouble. Even as his vision dissolved into stars, he held tightly onto the man. He wasn't getting an inch closer to Violet or the other patrons, not if Finnick could stop it. And while the man might have had surprise on his side, Finnick towered half a foot above his head and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. He might not have fought much over the years, for Clodagh and Mags had put an end to that behavior before it could fully begin, but years spent on the boats had made him strong. It was not long before he had the other man subdued, pinned against his chest.

"We're going outside," he hissed at the drunk. Finnick's vision returned to watch him nod stiffly, too stiffly, and his eyes traveled down to see the knife being held only a hair's width from the man's neck.

"No need for that," the man pleaded as he tried to grab for the knife, making Finnick take hold of his other arm as well.

Haymitch, the drunk Finnick had seen spend so many nights at the Fox and Face, did not lower his blade. "Seems that way to me, Rourick." He gestured towards the door. "Lead the way, kid."

The night air was cool and as sweet as it ever got in this part of the city. Only a few souls were out at this hour, most of the traffic on this street having been drawn like moths to a lantern to the Fox and Face. The one individual they passed, a small, feeble old man Finnick had seen many times before, always out on the streets alone, said nothing to them, instead curling himself further into the doorway and pretend he saw nothing. An uncomfortable lump grew in Finnick's throat, but he kept his grip on Rourick until they were several buildings away from the pub. Haymitch followed close behind, his knife never straying more than an inch or two away from the other man's throat. "All right, that's far enough," Finnick said once he could no longer see the Fox and Face over his shoulder. Rourick rubbed his arm and glared at Finnick and Haymitch. "Go on, get out of here," Finnick prompted. "I don't want to see you in there again, or I'll give you worse than a sore wrist. I'll promise you that, I will."

He wasn't going to repeat himself, and he didn't have to. Rourick scampered away into the shadows, and even he faded into nothing more than a somewhat darker silhouette on a canvas of black, Finnick still heard rapid footsteps.

"Good job back there," Haymitch said.

"Thank you."

"Violet's a good lady, and she needs someone like you around. That Brutus of hers, well, he's a good piece of hired muscle when he's around, but you can never trust him to be there when he's needed. What do you say to taking over for him?"

"I think that offer would have to come from Ms. Jennings, and I don't think it's one that's likely to be made."

"You'd be surprised, then." They had been headed back inside, but Haymitch stopped him just outside the pub's entrance. "Let's say she did offer you work. Would you take it?"

Finnick thought about it for a moment. He couldn't say yes, but it definitely wasn't out of the realm of possibility. "I would consider it."

Haymitch shot him a lopsided grin. "I'll have a talk with Violet tonight about it. Can't promise anything, and she won't pay you half of what you're worth, but I'd encourage you to take it." He glanced around, then leaned in closer. "And, between you and me, if anyone tries to take a swing at Violet like that fellow did, I'll pay you a dime for every bone of his you break."

* * *

"Who hit you?" asked Mary from her perch on his lap. She had assumed an odd position, her elbow digging ever so slightly into the soft flesh of his belly, but Finnick didn't ask her to move. Being here, in Clodagh's cramped kitchen that always smelled of fresh bread with his niece on his lap made the world feel safe, calm, and as it should be. Lord knew there wasn't enough of that in the world these days.

"A bad man." He winced as Clodagh gently traced the cut below his eye with her finger. Violet had wiped the wound clean and done her best to bandage it the night before, but Clodagh had the magic touch. He couldn't begin to count the bruises, cuts, and sprains she had patched up for him and his brothers over the years, but yet, none of them had a single scar to show for them.

"Well, he certainly did a good job of it," his sister said. "If you're going to get into fights, you at least ought to pick someone you can win against."

There was some wisdom to that statement, that he had to concede. But Finnick couldn't ignore the insult his older sister had tossed in there as well. "You're assuming I didn't win, but you haven't seen the other fellow. He could be in far worse shape for all you know."

"Finnick, please, not in front of Mary."

"But I want to hear what happened!" the girl protested.

Laughing, Finnick gathered his niece up in his arms and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll tell you when you're older." And if he was lucky, he could drag out the same excuse until she forgot they had this conversation.

"Mary, will you please find me my white thread? I let Mrs. Donnelly from downstairs borrow it yesterday, but I think Finnick might need stitches." He winced at Clodagh's words. It was bad enough to have to wear a bandage for a few days, but stitches would be far worse. He hated even the thought of the needle biting through his skin again and again.

"Finnick, I need to move." He loosened his grip, allowing Mary to wiggle off his lap and hurry downstairs to pester Mrs. Donnelly.

Clodagh waited until her daughter was well out of earshot to lay into him. "Finnick O'Daire, I swear to all that's good, if her father gave you that, I'm going to –"

"It wasn't," he assured her. She rose an eyebrow at that. "It's true! I promise, I conduct myself like an absolute gentleman. Anyways, I haven't seen Miss Cresta or her parents in a few days, and you know this" – he pointed towards his cut – "is fresh. It was just one of the bar toughs, Clodagh, I swear, and it won't happen again." When he was younger, he had thought that the moment he turned sixteen, or eighteen, or twenty-one, that he would miraculously be freed from judgement by his older sister. It hadn't happened yet, and Finnick didn't foresee Clodagh relinquishing those last remnants of her control over him anytime soon. "Do I need stitches?" he asked, meek as could be.

She shook her head. "No, I just didn't want Mary to hear that." He gave her a relieved smile, which she cut short with a frown. "But mind you, that can change if I hear that you've been causing trouble."

"I'm always the perfect gentleman."

"And if you aren't, you don't want to know what's coming to you," she threatened. Her smile returned the instant the door opened, signaling Mary's return. "Thank you, dear, but I took another look at Uncle Finnick's cut, and it doesn't look like he's going to need stitches after all. Isn't that rather nice?"

* * *

His back ached from his time out on the boats, but he had several hours of standing ahead of him yet. It was a godsend. The walk from the docks to the Fox and Face gave him time to think, and it had not taken Finnick long to realize that thinking led nowhere good. He was a haunted man, a shadow always cast upon him, but in those moments where he was beyond busy, driven so hard that he could think of nothing but the work before him, he could escape her face. Perhaps that was what Annie's father had spoken of when he had told Finnick to forget his daughter. Not to forget, never to truly forget, but to work himself so hard every waking moment that he became numb, had no mind or heart left to think about what would never be.

But real success required a smile, and he did his best to paste one over his features as he neared the pub. "Good evening," he called as he stepped into the pub. To his own ears, the words sounded dull and flat.

"Finnick! You must have a look at this!" Violet moved faster than he thought a woman of her size capable of, knocking into him with enough force that he was nearly sent keeling backwards into the street. Finnick caught himself just in time. Before he had fully regained his balance, Violet was forcing a letter into his hands. "Read it. It's from Annie."

_From Annie._ Suddenly, that piece of paper, cheap and rough as it was, became as valuable as all the sultan's gold. He smoothed out its wrinkled surface before tracing his name in her script with his thumb. "Go on, open it," Violet prodded him, and with a nod, he turned over the envelope. Though it had once been sealed shut with red wax, the seal had been broken, and he knew that Violet had already read its contents. The letter itself had been written on the back of a ledger sheet, the paper so thin that the lines on the other side sliced through her writing like the bars of a cell door. He smiled at the thought of Annie sneaking it from her father's shop in order to write to him.

_Dearest Finnick,_

_I pray this letter finds you well. My father told me of your meeting with him. I beg that you understand this separation is in no way due to any change in my impressions of or feelings for you, but rather my family's belief that Irish and American blood should not mix. I do not share this conviction, and from our many conversations, I believe you do not either._

_My parents will not compromise on their position, but I think of you day and night. I have tried before to wait out these feelings, but I know they will not fade. It is a physical pain to think that I might never see you again. I once believed I would never wish any pain upon you, but I now find myself praying that you feel the same. And it is on this prayer that I write this letter, though it strays far from convention or propriety to do so._

_I propose that we marry. My parents will not stand in the way of the law and God to keep us apart. Though I would of course prefer it, there is no legal requirement that my father agree to a union between us, and if we marry without first alerting my parents, there is nothing they can do to stop us. I realize that such an action will require more correspondence between us, and I believe that Georgia and Aunt Violet will be willing to deliver our letters._

_Please, do not reject this offer on my account alone. I understand the consequences of these actions, the wrath it will induce from my parents, the scorn we will be met with from all sides once they hear of our union. I know what we will be met with, and I am willing to accept it all in exchange for a lifetime by your side. It is my sincerely held belief that you will make an excellent husband, and should you accept my proposal, I shall strive every day to be an excellent wife._

_Yours fondly,_

_Annette Cresta_

His grin spread as he read, but even after he finished, Finnick could only stare at the page, dumbfounded and happy as any man had ever been. "What did he say?" said a voice from the other room, so much like Annie's that it made his heart twinge.

"Oh, leave the poor man alone, Georgia," Johanna scolded.

When he said nothing, Violet prodded him. "Do you need a moment alone, dear?"

Something about those words forced him back to the Fox and Face, to the realities before him. And for once, those realities were something he would gladly face, a friendly challenge rather than a gauntlet filled with horrors. "Yes, excuse me, no, I'm fine. Could I please have a piece of paper?" he asked.

She beamed at him as she pulled two pieces of paper and an envelope from her apron pocket.


End file.
